Went to school in Iowa. There, once you "graduate" eighth grade, you can play high school baseball, which is played in the summer.
We had moved to the small town during the second quarter of my eighth grade year and apparently I missed some cutoff residency date to play pony league baseball for the town team during the summer between my eighth grade and freshman year.
Just happened to be at the high school diamond one day shortly after school ended for the year, even before the season's first game, and was watching practice. The coach, the junior high and high school science teacher, asked if I was playing pony league. Told him my situation and he said I could play for the high school team, so I joined.
At the time I was maybe 5-2, weighed almost 90 pounds and was severely outmatched by the speed of even the JV pitchers. But I was fast, had a reasonably strong arm and knew enough to throw the ball in to the right spots from the outfield, so playing time on the JV team wasn't hard to come by.
I didn't crouch like the Little League World Series player. As a righty, my right foot would be at the back of the batter's box. I'd lean back in the box toward the catcher so much, my right hip would hover close to my calf. The stance left little room for pitches to find the strike zone.
I never got a hit that year, but drew plenty of walks and perfected the art of reaching first on dropped third strikes.
I can still remember my on-base percentage from that year — .667.
The coach even had me bat cleanup for at least one game.