The U.S. Open scouting report on the first-year ball boy Jerry Loughran: great hands, good arm, sore legs. It looks as if a plum exploded on his upper left thigh, a purple bruise from an as-yet-undiagnosed muscle tear. His mysteriously swollen right knee is hidden under a brace. His left calf is wrapped in a bandage. It hurts the most. 'One of the kids today said to me, 'Wow, my legs are really sore,'' Loughran said. 'I said, 'If you feel that way, what do you think I feel like?'' Loughran is 61. He is taking Aleve in the morning, ibuprofen in the afternoon. 'But not too much,' he pointed out. 'Because then I'd be loopy.' Like many older Americans, he had a few things he wanted to get done after he retired a couple of years ago: Get into an episode of 'Law & Order.' (Check.) Learn to play the piano. (Incomplete.) Skydive. (Incomplete.) Be an Open ball boy. (Check.) 'I'm a little bit nervous about a 'bucket list,'' Loughran said. 'Once you're at the end, does that mean you have to check in?' He did not know that he would become the oldest ball boy or girl to earn a full-time spot at the Open, a superlative that does not include Manny Herschkowitz, who made a one-set, side-court appearance as a ball boy 10 years ago at age 82. Fans have told Loughran that he inspires them. Some have joked that he must have lost his retirement savings in the tough economy. Many have called him Kramer. In a 1993 episode of 'Seinfeld,' Kramer tried out as an Open ball boy. 'Perhaps you've overlooked one of the key aspects of this activity,' Jerry told Kramer. 'It's 'ball boys,' not 'ball men.'' For Loughran, who has two daughters and three grandchildren, it could be 'ballpa.' (Officially, the Open prefers 'ball person.' About one-quarter of them are women. The minimum age is 14, and the median age is 18.) When Kramer was taunted by a boy suggesting that there might be 'a better way to spend your twilight years,' Kramer responded: 'I may be old, but I'm spry.' He was assigned to the women's final, but plowed into Monica Seles during warm-ups. Loughran has made no such missteps, other than throwing a ball that hit a line judge who stepped into its path. Instead, he has been trusted with good assignments, such as two matches at the Grandstand, the third-largest stadium court behind Arthur Ashe and Louis Armstrong. 'That is the goal,' Loughran said. 'Come back next year and make Ashe.' Last week, he worked matches featuring the likes of Caroline Wozniacki, Juan Carlos Ferrero and Tommy Haas. 'You can't beat being a ball boy for having the best seat in the house,' Loughran said. This week, with the main draw drained of most participants, the matches involve mostly juniors, some of whom are less than one-quarter of Loughran's age. On Tuesday, Loughran worked a doubles match. The combined age of the four girls was 68. It is an incongruous sight, to see teens playing a game while a gray-haired man chases the balls they hit around the court. Speed, stealth and a servant's grace are of the essence. Loughran, as is his duty, shadows servers between points and presents balls to them like an eager hawker. He fetches towels and receives them back after they have absorbed a players' sweat. At changeovers between sets, he even holds an umbrella over the young players' heads to protect them from the sun. 'I'm a very lucky guy,' Loughran said. He grew up in Rego Park, Queens, not far from the former Open home in Forest Hills, and was always fascinated by the choreography of the ball boys. But he did not try to become one until 2007, after he retired from his career as a labor-employment lawyer. He did not make it. In 2008, ready to try again, his wife, Grace, surprised him with a trip to Ireland for his 60th birthday. She inadvertently scheduled it for the same time as the tryouts. So Loughran tried out again this summer. At the first screening, he showed that he could throw a tennis ball consistently, on one bounce, from one end of the court to the other, a major requirement. He could receive such throws cleanly, another prerequisite. He was called back. He passed through a second audition, with more rigorous testing, and made the final cut. Loughran's eyes grew teary just thinking about the kind congratulations he received from others, many young enough to be his grandchildren. None of the other 282 ball people who began the tournament -- many of whom are now back in school -- are as old as 50. The few that have reached middle age generally have been working here annually since they were teenagers. 'This is America,' said Tina Taps, the longtime director of ball people at the Open. 'Anyone has the opportunity. And with age, there are no boundaries.' Loughran is a willowy 6 feet and 170 pounds. He has run marathons and bikes and plays softball regularly. He has no problem with making the throws, even diagonally across the court. In a juniors match Tuesday on Court 7, he cleanly caught every ball -- dozens of them -- thrown to him, something others could not say. What he did not expect was the sprinting. It starts before the match, when the six ball people stand silently and regally on one side of the court, waiting for the competitors to arrive. When the last competitor sets down his or her bag, the six ball people sprint to their positions, a maneuver called 'the burst.' Loughran works one of the four back positions, against the wall beyond the baseline. Every stray ball must be captured, even if that means hopping a fence -- something a fellow ball person had to do on Court 7 on Tuesday. 'I really want to come back next year,' Loughran said, looking down at his battered legs. 'And I want to prepare myself better, so the nicks and dings don't affect me so much.' In checking something off his bucket list, Loughran has added something else. 'Maybe I'll take up yoga,' he said. 'I think that'll give me the flexibility I'm looking for.' 