I hit a mental block yesterday at work and I've been struggling with it ever since. I had one bad throw and then it all snowballed. Out of the court, into the net, six bounces, almost hit a player, hit a linesman, overthrow--you name it, I became a hazard in a splitsecond.

If you've seen "the Replacements" (with Keanu Reeves) or played a sport with a very metaphorical coach, the comparison "quicksand" will make some sense to you--and that's what it was. My physical mistakes had nothing to do with how fast I run or how hard I throw, it had to do with my mind not working with my body to orchestrate a proper motion. Soon, I couldn't move--I was scared of doing the job. I didn't want them to hit a ball at me. I didn't want to have to throw. I didn't want to have to do it ever again. I wanted to move back to net where I had comfortably sat for years. I went through my conversation with my boss in my mind over and over again, logically constructing my way out of this position.

And all the while, my arm was strong enough to make the throws. Even the part of me that didn't want to do this again, knew better than not to end on a decent throw--or else, I would never be able to throw again. Basically, I felt like Chuck Knoblauch out there.

I went from being one of the best nets at the Open to being, quite possibly, the worst back. Yes, things got ugly.

A lot of bullshit management things going on at the Open this year. They're moving a more controlling hand over the miniscule aspects of the tournament's operation; and not doing a great job at it. Days before the tournament started, construction was still underway. Micromanaging.

I got my iMac. It's be-ay-u-ti-ful. So sexy. SOOOOOOOO sexy.

In case you didn't get any of the stuff written above, I'm a ballboy at the US Open for the 7th year. The fun factor has been diminishing. And I'm really sore. I appreciate any and all invitations to hot tubs.

And I'm spent. 10 cent wings, 2 dollar drafts when the Moose is Loose.