7th grade tryouts for County League Baseball. After drills they line us up alphabetically by last name to hit the kids who were trying out for pitcher. There’s some routine of hit, base run, steal 3rd, get glove, outfield, infield, back to dugout to hit again. The PA keeps calling out “break-ins” for specific positions kids want. Adams to field 3 to catch. Baker to field 2 to play 1st. Cook to field 3 to pitch etc. By chance I’m right next to my best friend alphabetically at this thing. Some kid with the last name “pecker” is trying out for seemingly every damn specialty position, but instead of announcing “pecker” the PA keeps saying “pecker jr” or “junior pecker.” We’re in hysterics at the plate, dugout, and on the field each time he’s name is announced, mimicking the PA baritone into our gloves. “Littlest pecker we need you to play.” “Will the kid with the smallest Johnson. Littlest Johnson to field 2” The whole thing is bullshit cause we’re all just going to whichever team has most of our middle school or is coached by a friend’s dad. But all the dads are huddled up and bullshitting a few are taking notes and acting the part. Our dads instead of discouraging us and telling us to be serious have started smirking. The whole juvenile thing feeds upon itself all afternoon until my buddy and I are bent over in laughter as soon as the PA speaker cracks and our dads are red in the face. We lose it again the next year just remembering it. To this day I can usually get an audible laugh from my dad 20 years later by saying, “crrrck Pecker Jr”