It’s funny the way things work out sometimes. For example, flash back to the Sweet 16 where Maryland trailed Michigan State by two points with less than five seconds left. Steve Blake — I’m gonna miss you, dog — takes the inbounds pass and darts up court . . . fires a 3-pointer from the top of the key . . . for the win . . . clank.

If Maryland had won, I would have headed to San Antonio to see my beloved Terps play Texas in the Elite Eight on my way back to the Farm. I can think of worse ways to break up the trip.

As it were, I spent a couple more days with my family and girlfriend, who declared after the loss that she never wants to watch a game with me again.

But in hindsight, maybe it was fate that Blake’s shot was off the mark, for two days later I had the pleasure of witnessing something far more special as a result: an Orioles win.

I went to Opening Day at Camden Yards, where an Orioles offense that wouldn’t be scary wielding aluminum bats at a tee-ball game erupted — I’m talking Vesuvius-style — for six runs in a thrilling, snow-filled 13-inning 6-5 win over the Indians.

OK, so maybe the O’s were trailing 4-2 when I had to leave in the seventh inning to catch a plane to San Jose, but that’s beside the point. The point is that after averaging less than three runs per contest and losing 32 of 36 games to end last season, the Birds were a perfect 1-0, sitting tied with the Yankees for first atop the standings.

Who am I kidding? The point is, despite the win, the Orioles inhale vigorously once again.

Twenty-four hours, three time zones and 20 degrees later, I went with some friends to Networks Associates Coliseum for the Athletics’ opener, a 5-0 blanking of the Mariners.

The contrast between the O’s and A’s is depressing, as practically every player in Ken Macha’s lineup could bat cleanup in Baltimore, and Oakland’s fourth starter would be the Orioles ace.

Listening to the pre-game show as we sat in traffic within walking distance of the stadium for an hour, Miguel Tejada talked about his MVP award, Spring Training and, of course, his future, or lack thereof, in Oakland.

I’m not an agent, Mr. Tejada, but I play one in this column. If you’re reading this, I know just the place for you. That’s right, my man: Baltimore. Hear me out.

You jest that if you could make an offer you’d ask for $500 million. I like a client with a sense of humor, but if there’s one team that has stockpiled and is willing to pay you that much, it’s Peter Angelos and the Orioles brass.

Of course you’d stand a better chance of commanding that amount of money in Baltimore if you were 10 years older with a bad hip and retired (see: Albert Belle) but their revamped front office tells me they’re ready to take a chance on someone in the prime of his career like yourself.

I know winning is important to you and I can assure you that it’s the No. 1 priority in Baltimore as well. Sure, Jeff Conine bats cleanup. Yes, the O’s just lost two of three games to the Devil Rays and have finished fourth in the division for the past five years. But with a bountiful collection of up-and-comers from their non-existent farm system and seasoned veterans who can ground into double plays with the best of them, the O’s are just one gargantuan puzzle-piece away from contending for third-place. You, Mr. Tejada, are that piece.

You’ve got the potential to make O’s fans forget about the free-agent acquisition of shortstop Deivi Cruz — a career .269 hitter considered an offensive upgrade — if not Cal Ripken.

Now Miggy, I know you care a lot about your kids, which is very respectable. The National Aquarium in Baltimore is a learning haven and the Children’s Museum is top-notch.

Carmelo Anthony’s from Baltimore and that’s gotta be good for something. Right?

So come the free-agent signing period, think Charm City. Think crab cakes. Think Baltimore, Miggy. Please.

Scott Allen is a sophomore. If you want to talk about the Oriole’s chances this season, e-mail him at ssallen@stanford.edu