I got this Jesus tattoo on my wrist when I was 18 because I know that it's always going to be a part of me. When I'm playing, it's staring right back at me, saying, 'Remember where you came from.'

I'm not one for writing names on my wrist when I play. Actually, I internalise a lot. But my brother and I are so connected... everything I do is for him.

My first lip balms were Bonne Bell Lip Smackers, which, correct me if I'm wrong, sometimes had little bracelets attached to the caps-meaning your lip balm could idly dangle from your wrist like a charm bracelet when not in use, not unlike some iPhone accessories.

Every man needs a good, solid watch. My favorite watch is the Presidential Rolex. I own many watches, but this one is usually the one on my wrist. I buy mine in the Diamond District in New York City. Classic.

I have angel wings and a halo on my wrist, which I got done on my 30th birthday in memory of my brother.

I've broken my nose, I've broken ribs. You name it. In fact, we just got back from South America, and I fell over a monitor speaker on the stage and almost ended up in the front row of the audience. I managed to sprain my wrist on that one but luckily nothing was broken.

I tend not to wear accessories. I'm not one of those gals with a drawerful of amazing jewelry. I don't even have my ears pierced! But I have one bracelet that never comes off my wrist.

When I was 12, I snapped my arm in two. My wrist still has a funny bump because they didn't join it back together so great.

Fluted sleeves or any sleeve that flares out before coming in again at the wrist are very feminine and a great way to distract from the dreaded 'bingo wings.'

One funny thing is, though, I wear my watch on my right hand and I'm actually right-handed. People always wonder why - I don't know myself, I've just always done it that way and I like it the way a good watch fits on my right wrist.

When I came to New York and I opened the window of the thirty-fifth-floor apartment, there's light pollution and fog, and I couldn't see my star. So I drew it on my wrist with a pen, but it kept washing away. Then I went to a tattoo parlor on Second Avenue and had it done.

Imagine if it happened to you: All of a sudden you find this thing on your wrist and people are telling you it has powers. I would be a little skeptical myself.

In the split second from the time the ball leaves the pitcher's hand until it reaches the plate you have to think about your stride, your hip action, your wrist action, determine how much, if any the ball is going to break and then decide whether to swing at it.

I was freaking out when Brooks & Dunn were breaking up. I thought 'We play a ton of rodeos, and I thought this was such a cowboy deal, and I don't wear a hat. They might not think I'm a cowboy. That might sound ridiculous to a lot of people, but apparently, it meant something to me. I wound up with a cowboy tattoo from my elbow to my wrist.

Not many people know, but my joints are extremely hypermobile, and that's why I'm more prone to injuries. That's why most of my major injuries were with the joints. I had a career-threatening wrist injury where picking up a fork to feed myself was a problem, and the thought of playing tennis again was so far from my mind.

One really beautiful wrist motion, that is synchronised with your head and heart, and you have it. It looks as if it were born in a minute.

My father used to always say to me that, you know, if a guy goes out to steal a loaf of bread to feed his family, they'll give him 10 years, but a guy can do white-collar crime and steal the money of thousands and he'll get probation and a slap on the wrist.

I've broken my wrist, dislocated toes and shoulders, gotten stitches, you name it. However, the worst was a severely bruised femur. I got body checked into an open gate while playing hockey. The doctor couldn't believe I didn't shatter my femur.

Growing up, I was a target. Speaking the right way, standing the right way, holding your wrist the right way. Every day was a test, and there were a thousand ways to fail, a thousand ways to betray yourself, to not live up to someone else's standards of what was accepted, of what was normal.

Why slap them on the wrist with feather when you can belt them over the head with a sledgehammer.