We’ve all made the same mistake. Just 10 seconds left in the fourth quarter. Ten seconds left to proudly stare at the lower right-hand corner of the screen and read “Eagles 21, Patriots 15.” Ten seconds to savor the fact that you have the ball and that your opponent has no prayer of winning tonight’s game of Madden. Ten seconds to run one final play, to avoid taking a knee, to toss the Hail Mary, just to stick it to your opponent.

And just 10 seconds to see Tedy Bruschi pick off your toss and return it for a game-winning touchdown.

Seconds separated you from victory. But now, instead of 10 seconds of glory, you’re left with 10 months for your buddy to constantly remind you of the night you threw away that X-Box victory.

And last week, at the first Olympic women’s snowboard cross, 10 seconds separated America’s Lindsey Jacobellis from the gold medal.

As the Visa commercial celebrity approached one of the course’s final jumps, her closest competitor — Switzerland’s Tanja Frieden — was nowhere in sight. It appeared only a catastrophe would keep the 20-year old from making history.

But as Jacobellis’ board slid over that second-to-last jump, emotion overcame her. Suddenly, it wasn’t about her country, it was about Jacobellis. She decided to go for a backside method grab — a trick involving a 60-degree twist — in front of the grandstands, conveniently enough.

And what did Jacobellis have to show for her showboating? A miscalculated landing, a fall on her backside and a front-row view of Frieden whizzing by to claim the gold.

Immediately after the finish, Jacobellis claimed the jump was standard and that she was merely trying to ensure a stable landing — which explains why she did the trick in front of crowd-packed stands, and why she would look to land a trick she rarely attempted.

That kicked off the debate as to whether or not Jacobellis should have attempted the trick, and as to whether or not she was hotdogging in the first place. To me, it was an easy decision. I’ve never seen snowboarding, a Winter Olympic sport, or even actual snow in my life, but even I could tell from a mile away that Jacobellis was guilty of sports’ most commonly committed sin — counting your chickens before they hatch.

A similar mistake could have cost the Broncos their divisional playoff victory over New England a few weeks ago when Champ Bailey slowed near the end zone, allowing Pats’ tight end Ben Watson to clock the Denver cornerback at one-yard line and come dangerously close to forcing a game-altering safety.

For weeks heading into the 2006 Rose Bowl, ESPN ran a nightly special hypothetically pitting this year’s Southern California squad against some of history’s greatest college teams. Each night, analysts would proclaim the Trojans’ majesty, ignoring the fact that the team was still one win away from the national championship.

And sure enough, Texas made the “Worldwide Leader” eat its words. Even I paid the price for my overconfidence, as is clearly demonstrated by the giant Texas banner now hanging in my room, compliments of an ill-fated bet that continues to ravage my soul.

And no one should know about this athletic sin better than Cardinal fans, who witnessed our beloved band pull a Jacobellis of their own in 1982.

With her antics this past weekend, Jacobellis cemented her legend in sports lore. In a world filled with athletes who spend more time choreographing their celebration dances than talking with their teammates, it’s hard to imagine modern players putting their teams — or their nation — over themselves and their egos.

But for the sake of the Olympics, the grandest stage of all, it sure would be nice to see an American athlete living up to the Games’ original intentions of competing for sport and country.

Yet we can still thank Jacobellis for one thing: she gave us something to actually care about in Torino.

Got 10 seconds? Whiz by Andrew Lomeli for the gold at alomeli@stanford.edu. Just don’t showboat.