Santiago Perez [redone with new app]

[lovasz]

Santi! STOLE YOUR HEART;

They call me Jess and I've shot for the moon 18 times.
You know you all love me and you can contact me via [e-mail].
Ktxbi.

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» There Goes my Hero;

THe birth certificate reads Santiago Perez
But Everyone Calls Me Santiago or Santi
Ive Been Breaking Hearts for 21 years
The say I Am a professional soccer player
Ive Been Told I Look Like Brian McBride

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» Rock and Roll, Baby.;

I am so tall 5'11"
And I Weigh 167
Ive Bee Ninked And Pierced none at all
They always say I look like Considering his occupation, Santi is quite well built. He is no stranger to physical strength and it's pretty obvious. In order to play soccer you absolutely have to be in top physical form, therefore meaning that he was. Otherwise he'd have been fired a long time ago. He keeps his hair cut relatively short to keep it out of his way. How annoying would it be to have your hair in your face when you're trying to shoot a goal? He didn't know how some guys did it.

Because of his sense of humor he's almost always smiling. Just about the only time you'll not catch him smiling is after a bad day with his horse, Fire's Aftermath. Generally on those days he'll be bleeding, bruised, and in such pain that he doesn't want to do anything but just sit there. Most of the time he'll just go home and flak out on the couch and wait for the pain to subside then go find something to do.

His eyes are blue, and unlike most blue eyes, they don't appear gray in dim light. They're sort of a deep blue, that you wouldn't expect to see in a guy who didn't wear contacts. He's not afraid to get dirty, and it's pretty easy to tell. If he's at the stable, he'll be covered in dirt, sweat, and possibly even blood and wouldn't appear to care that he looked terrible. He's not exactly tall, but not short either. His height would be more appropriately considered average.
This Is What Makes Me Stand Out Gnarly scar on the right knee from a soccer injury

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» Chances Taken, Hope Embraced;

I Adore
sports particularly soccer
horses
people in general
Working
making progress with the devil horse
I Abhor
preps
homos
self obsessed people
know it alls
I Rock Soccer, obviously, patience, and understanding
I Suck at lying, paying attention, and relaxing
I Do tend to ignore everything except what I'm doing and am almost always taken by surprise by people.
I Want to get that horse to stop throwing and trying to kill me
I Fear getting myself hurt again and having to start all over
I Shut up the fact that I used to be a drunk "party boy"
I amAs I mentioned before, Santi has an incredible sense of humor and finds it quite easy to laugh. He does, however, know when it's appropriate to be serious and does so. He gets along with just about anyone, with a few exceptions. He could care less if people are better at doing something than he is, after all, there's no one who can be good at everything. He just likes soccer and riding. As long as he's semi-decent at that, he's satisfied.

He's a good friend to have, and a hard one to lose. He's exceedingly forgiving, and hasn't held a grudge towards anyone as far as he can remember. Well, except for the coach of the Euro team who kicked him off because of an injury that he had no control over. Horses are a big thing in his life since he started riding, and if you share that in common with him, then you should be good to go. There's not a whole lot besides soccer and riding that'll catch his interest, so keep that in mind.

A lot of people know his name because of his involvement in professional sports, and he hates that. He doesn't want to be a big time celebrity. Sure they make lots of money, but what percentage of the people out there know David Beckham for his soccer and what percentage know him for all the products he's endorsed? Santi doesn't want to become the next Beckham, he wants to be the first Santiago Perez.

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» I Know I Won't Be Home At All;

I Came From Jose (56) and Amanda (50) who, last I heard two years ago, were still running their lawn care business
I Share My Dna With no one
I Come From Holtville, California
But I Live Here Now Pinewood West Virginia
This Is Who I was The first time he played soccer was in first grade on the "non competitive" team at the local public school. After that, it was just about the only thing he ever did. Freshman year he was on the varsity team at his high school, and showed great promise. At the end of his senior year, he received an invitation to join the United States Professional Soccer Team, which he readily accepted. His parents were quite put odd by his decision, and basically disowned him and moved away so he could never find them...not that he wanted to anyway.

After a year he got another invitation from a British soccer team, which he, again, accepted. Shortly after the invitation, he moved across the big blue to Britain where he began training.Only a year into playing he was severely injured when another player slide tackled him, cleats up, in the knee. He was forced to take a year off, and during that year was replaced on the team, meaning that he would have to start all over again. Although it was practically miserable going through all the rehab required to get himself into condition to be able to play again, he did find a few ways to entertain himself. Also during that year, he discovered a fascination with horses.

He moved back to the States and there started riding, and boy what a start did he have. He purchased a horse that had formerly been a bucking champion. It took him about three months before he could stay up on him for more than eight seconds, and even then, it was no more than five or ten minutes max. Patience here, came in very handy. It took a ton of time, patience, and effort to do anything with the demon animal who really would have liked to kill him, fortunately, he had all that.

When the year he was required to take off was up, he was once again asked to join the U.S soccer team, and he did so, but this time continued riding as well. Since the soccer season was in late summer and early fall, he had the rest of the time to continue riding here at Pinewood. Juggling the two schedules could be difficult at times, but he was willing to make that sacrifice in order to live the best of both worlds.
This Is Who I am Couldn't be better. I've made progress with Son, and I'm back on the team, what more could I ask for?

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» This Heart It Beats;

I Lust Straight
I Love a girl who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to try for it.
I Loathe anything that involves alcohol or drugs
Maybe I loved no one
Maybe I Didnt Avril Lavigne

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» This Is How We'll Dance;

I Bow Down OH MEH GEE
I Choose This is my third one I've done tonight and I still don't get it.
I am an Awesome

(I realize that this is a super long post, but I have to admit that it is my best work. If you would like a shorter example, please let me know and I'll see what I can come up with.)

They called him the meanest bucking horse around. He was completely unpredictable, and you never knew what would come next. Not only could he buck, but he was an impressive horse to look at. His black coat was unscarred and perfectly smooth, rippling and rolling over the massive muscles that built his bulky frame. He was the model bucking horse, and people came from all around to see him.

He threw every rider that ever attempted the whole eight seconds, and when they hit the ground, he drove straight at them. The only reason he bucked, they said, was because he hated humans. It didn’t matter if he got them off in one second or seven seconds, he hated them, and the as soon as you were off of him, he’d be on top of you before you could even blink an eye. He’d never killed a man before, but he’d hurt a good many of them.

Unfortunately, good things never last forever, and disaster soon struck the horse. The gate ripped open and he leapt out with impressive gusto. In his first leap the rider started to lose it, on the second, it was clear that he was going to go down. The third jump though, the rider’s ruined balance threw the horse off balance, causing most of his weight to come down on his right front leg. Everyone heard the crack, everyone saw the lower leg bend at a terribly unnatural angle, everyone heard the horse’s pained scream as he plummeted to the ground, and everyone saw the end of his glorious career as his massive bulk hit the ground. He was ruined, he would never throw another man in the rodeo circuit again.

The horse had become a national icon in the five years he’d been beating the best of the best, and even though he probably would have killed them had he been given the chance, no one wanted to see the horse put down. Donations came pouring in, and in less than a day the horse was in surgery to repair the broken leg. It would be a miracle if he would ever walk again, let alone carry a rider, but his never ending persistence, his undying fight for what he wanted, had captured the hearts of thousands, euthanasia would only be used as a last resort.

Six long hours of surgery and the leg was fastened back together with pins and plates, hours upon hours of therapy and massaging. After nine months it appeared that he would make it, he would walk with a limp, but he would walk, and that he could live his life until death took him naturally. All was not well though. After the accident, it seemed he had lost his spirit, his resilience to keep fighting was gone, and he had lost the will to even live. He stood listlessly in the stall, ignoring any and all who came by to look at the heroic horse. He ignored them, that is, until a young man stopped at the stall late one evening when everyone else had gone.

Unlike the others, this man didn’t appear to be a raving fan, and he too had a limp in his step. The big horse looked up at him, their eyes connecting. For several moments, they just stood there looking at each other in silence, neither one making a move towards the other. Finally, the horse broke that long wait, and reared up in his stall. A piercing screech rushed from him as he pawed at the air, striking out at the man, even though he was well out of reach. His hooves hit the ground once more and he rushed towards the stall door, stopping within inches, ears pinned back, eyes wide, and nostrils flared.

The man didn’t move though. He just looked at the horse in its defiance and hatred. He smiled and continued on, disappearing out the door without so much as a sound uttered. The horse was completely and entirely confused, but went on pacing and getting himself worked up. Over the next several days that fiery spirit returned, and more and more people started coming to see him. A week later, several men came and somehow or another managed to get a halter and lead shank on him. They then managed to blindfold him and lead him out of his stall. Despite not being able to see, the horse fought them the whole way, but found himself before long, in a trailer.

The entire drive there was kicking and whinnying and snorting coming from the back of the trailer as the horse let his dislike for the situation be known. After an hour or two, the truck stopped, and the doors opened. The moment the lead was untied, the horse leapt forwards as if to take off out the door and never make an appearance again, but only a stride or two out of the trailer, he came to a sudden stop. There was that same man he’d seen earlier. He stood silently looking at him, his knotted muscles bulging beneath his smooth coat, ready to bolt if he decided he needed to. After several moments, the man started slowly towards the riled horse, stopping within touching distance. Carefully and slowly he took hold of the horse’s lead rope, but made no attempt to make the horse move anywhere.

After a while, the horse’s ears pricked forwards, no longer pinned back in anger. His head lowered to a more normal height, and he slowly relaxed. When he had done this, the man gave a light pull on the lead, and the stallion started forwards to follow. He kept as much distance between himself and them man as possible, but he was still following him. This was only the beginning of the relationship between man and horse.

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That first goal was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him during his lifetime. He remembers exactly how it happened. One of his teammates attempted a goal, but it hit the goal post and bounced off, right to him. His foot connected with the ball, it flew through the air seemingly in slow motion, and soared straight into the corner of the goal. He wouldn’t ever forget that day, even if he was only in first grade on a non-competitive team. That day really inspired his desire to play soccer, and after that, he devoted 90% of his time playing soccer. Freshman year he made varsity, and ended the season with as the third highest scorer on the team. It was then that everyone else knew that he would go above and beyond.

Towards the end of his senior year, the recruiters came, most of them from colleges, a few from the professional’s league. To them, his skill was incredibly obvious, and the first to approach him was the representative of the U.S professional soccer team. You think it’s hard to be calm and reserved when you win something? Well, imagine how he felt as an 18 year old being asked to join a professional soccer team face to face with the recruiter. He was hardly able to contain himself, but somehow he managed.

His parents were dramatically less than supportive of his desire to make playing soccer his career. His father was of Mexican descent, and had moved up to the States to marry his mother after “dating” online for a year. He had a huge work ethic, and in his opinion, if you enjoyed something as much as he enjoyed soccer, it wasn’t worthy to be called work. He was persistent though, and after a while both of his parents realized that it really didn’t matter what they said, he was going to play soccer. This, of course, caused a great deal of tension between him and his parents, which in turn only increased his desire to move out and get as far away as possible from them. He accepted the invitation to join the team, and a month after graduation, he moved out and his career as a professional athlete began.

After a year on the U.S team, he was offered a position on the British team, the chance of a life time on the European team. Unfortunately, only a year into this chapter of his career, he was slide tackled by another player, and got the iron spikes of his cleats in his knee. The injury was bad, so much so to that it was to the extent that he was forced to take a year off. In the high-intensity world of European soccer, and injury like that could easily end your career there, and so it did for him. After a few months, he was replaced on the team by someone who could actually play. He was frustrated, but there was nothing he could do about it, he still had to wait a year before he could play, or else risk re-injuring it and never walking again.

Having a year with nothing to do but waste time, he started finding interest in things he’d never paid any mind to, and one of those things happened to be horses. He and a few of his friends headed to a large equine event, said to host some of the greatest riders in the world, and while his friends were off looking for girls to hit on, he found himself enthralled at the ringside. A month later he moved back to the United States, knowing that if he started playing soccer again he would have to start over on a U.S team. There, he started looking into horses, and soon found that western reining most interested him. He enjoyed watching English riding, yes, but somehow it just didn’t seem right that a professional soccer player get into English riding, it just didn’t fit his personality.


When finally the year was over, it seemed the U.S team had been counting down the days because exactly one year and a day from the date of the accident he received a phone call. He soon found himself flung full throttle into the world of soccer once again, meaning that he had less time to devote to riding. He still rode…or at least tried to…mind you, but when you’re a professional athlete, the sport tends to take up a lot of time. So during soccer season, he rode only when he managed to get time off between games, and during the off season, he only rode. Late spring, summer, and early fall he played soccer, and mid to late fall, winter, and early spring he rode. It worked out fairly well for scheduling, and he was satisfied to be living in both worlds.

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For at least the tenth time that day, he flew through the air, and hit the ground. Momentarily, everything went dark, and he couldn’t seem to move. The sound of hooves pounding towards him, however, brought him back again. With a jolt his eyes opened, and he sat up as the looming shadow of an oncoming horse fell over him. He leapt to his feet and out of the way just in time as the riderless black horse charged by, his hooves crushing the ground where only moments ago he had lain. He shook his head as the horse raced by. If he’d still been lying there, he would probably be about dead by now. The black horse dug its hooves into the ground, wheeled, and raced back towards him again, ears pinned back, teeth bared, and a look of total hatred radiating from him. That horse was going to kill him.

Luckily, he’d fallen near to the fence, and slipped between the rails before the horse could come within striking range. Once more the horse slid to a stop and stood, breathing heavily, glaring at him through the fence. The two of them stood there looking at each other for several minutes, as if each was trying to figure the other out. One thought rolled through the man’s mind; he was glad no one was there to see that. His attention was stolen from the horse at the sound of a click. He turned his head, ever so slowly, towards the sound, and realized that he was, in fact, not alone. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He said under his breath, loud enough only for the horse to hear. Somehow or another, a camera man, and no doubt sports journalist, had managed to find him right at the worst possible moment.

Doing his best not to show the current frustration he was feeling, the young man sighed, looked back towards the horse, slipped through the rails, and took hold of the reins. He led the horse towards the gate of the round corral and walked out; ignoring the fifteen million questions the photographer shot at him as he passed by. Ever faithful, the camera man followed him, persistent in his questioning. Of course, this man probably knew nothing about horses, but that didn’t seem to hinder him from rattling off one question after another.

Glancing down at his watch, he picked up the pace a bit to a faster walk, irritation growing as the questions kept coming. “Look,” he said, stopping and turning to the photographer, who almost instantly took a picture, not helping his cause at all. “I haven’t got time for your questions, come back some other time.” He was about to continue on, when a thought struck him. He turned back to the photographer who had taken the hint and didn’t take another picture. “How’d you get in here anyway?” He asked, some of the curiosity gone. The photographer didn’t answer…he wasn’t going to let anyone know how he got into places without being seen.
All of a sudden, without warning, the horse’s head snaked out, and his teeth drove into his rider’s arm, sinking deep enough to draw blood. “Son…” the man said turning towards the horse, rather frustrated with all that was going on. He stopped though, and forced himself to calm down as the horse pulled his head up and back, eying the man with a scheming look in his eye. “I can’t deal with this right now.” The man mumbled under his breath, and started forward again, ignoring the photographer as he snapped pictures of the bleeding arm. He led the horse into the barn, and stopped at the door to close it behind him and lock the photographer out. “One last question Mr. Perez…” the camera man said, but was cut off when the door closed.

The next day on the front page of the sports section was a picture of him on the ground with the black horse racing towards him. The headline read, “Santiago Perez- a new hobby, a new way to get killed.” Following that was an article written by the photographer describing what he’d thought when he had come up to the corral and seen the professional soccer player lying face up on the ground with a horse charging at him, ready to kill. The conclusion he came to was that Santiago was either an idiot, had lost his mind, was an extreme dare devil, or had a secret death wish. “After all,” he said, “what kind of sane person would be in the arena with that horse?” Accompanying the article was also a photo of Santiago’s arm, dripping with blood from when the horse had attacked him.

“Hey Santi!” One of Santiago’s teammates called as he jogged out onto the field for practice, “Which is it? You crazy, stupid, or want to get yourself killed?” Santiago just smiled as he joined the group of soccer players waiting for the coach. It was the last practice of the year as they had a game the next day that would finish their season. “I don’t really know.” Santiago replied, “What do you guys think?” “It looks to me like you’re a stupid crazy man with a death wish.” One of the other guys said as they all laughed. Everyone grew silent as the coach came walking up, clipboard in hand. The meeting commenced, and everyone forgot about their conversation. As the players started off for warm ups, the coach called Santiago aside. “Try not to get yourself killed Perez.” He said, a smile spreading across his face, “We need you tomorrow.” Santiago saluted the coach and started out to catch up with the rest of the team.

The season was over, they hadn’t won the last game, but their star striker had been taken out of the game when he got an elbow to the face and broken his jaw, which slightly crippled the team. It was a hard fought game though, and they’d been tied all the way up to the last two minutes when the other team was given a penalty kick. It was an unfortunate and rather unsatisfying way to end the season, but considering that they’d been playing the number on team in the world, they weren’t too disappointed. Santiago was personally a bit glad the season was over since now he’d have more time to devote to riding…or attempting to anyway. As of yet, he hadn’t ridden the horse once without getting thrown. Because of that fact, several people would be prone to calling him a bad rider; however, he would ignore them. The day that they tried to ride a former champion bucking horse, and didn’t get bucked off, then they could tell him he was a bad rider.

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After arriving at the barn, Santiago headed to his horse’s stall, the one marked with the name plate “Fire’s Aftermath.” He stopped when he reached the stall, quite surprised to find the latch torn off the door, and the horse missing. Great He thought to himself, just great. Only moments later though, he heard someone yelling for help and the angry whinny of a horse. A smile lightened up his features, and grabbed the lead off of its hook on the wall and started at a jog towards the sound. He wasn’t at all surprised to see one of the stable hands climbing a fence with the black horse close behind him. When the stable hand got to the other side of the fence, he was practically in a panic, but the horse stopped and paced along the fence line, not attempting to jump it and follow him.
“Hey Son.” Santiago said as he approached the horse, “let the man alone, what’s he ever done to you?” The horse turned its head towards Santiago, and his ears pinned back viciously. “Watch him mister.” The stable hand said, “he just tried to kill me.” Santiago smiled and stepped up to the horse, clipping the lead rope to his halter. “He does the same thing to me every day.” Santiago said, threading the lead through the rings on the halter so as to form a sort of improvised stud chain. “Sorry about that.” he said with a nod to the stable hand, and headed back up to the stable. “You are going to kill someone someday, and how do you think that will go over with the press?” He asked the horse as they walked on, “I don’t think it’ll give me a very good reputation either, and it’s bad enough with you as it is.”

When the two got back to the barn, Santiago clipped the horse in the cross ties and quickly and accurately saddled and bridled him, being careful to stay out of the way of his teeth or hooves. Fire’s Aftermath, or Son as Santiago called him, was not a nice horse. He would sooner trample you than let you ride him. Santiago had made some progress with the horse to where the animal at least respected him somewhat and didn’t always try to kill him whenever he saw him. He was sort of like the devil in disguise. “Let’s see if we can actually accomplish something today, besides throwing me.” He said as they headed for the corrals, “that would be a nice change in the routine.”

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Santiago hadn’t ridden him that day, or the next, or the day after that. In fact, for another three months, every time he got up on the horse’s back, he was thrown off again. Finally, Son seemed to get tired of the same thing over and over and over again and finally gave up on throwing Santiago. It was a welcome relief to actually stay in the saddle for once, and be able to do something. After a while, hitting the ground after being thrown off a horse really started to wear on your body, and he had no room for wear. Professional athletes had to be in top form at all times, and it was difficult considering how many times he had been bucked off.

Horse and rider began to discover a skill for western reining, and started developing that. Most people would hire a trainer or coach of some sort, but not Santiago. The last thing he needed was another person breathing down his neck telling him what to do and letting him know that he should look into a more…amicable horse. He was going to stick with Son, and the two of them were going to excel at reining if it was the last thing he did. Call it arrogance, and it probably was, but he didn’t care. Not many people understood Son’s anger, and not many people understood Santiago, so the best way to get through this was on their own.

After nearly five months, Santiago Perez and Fire’s Aftermath appeared in the list of contestants at a local show in the reining division. Son leapt forward at the cue, his long legs ripping into the earth and propelling him forwards. In only a few strides he had reached a gallop, and shortly after, he dug all four hooves into the earth and slid to a stop. Dirt flew everywhere from beneath his hooves, leaving perfect skid marks in the turf behind them. The judges seemed relatively impressed, but not entirely ecstatic about the performance. The scores of all the contestants flashed across the screen, displaying the names in order of placing. They didn’t do exceedingly well, but fifth was nothing to be ashamed of, especially considering that they’d been doing this for such a short time. They were getting better, no doubt about it, it was just going to take time. At this rate though, it didn’t seem like there was anything they wouldn’t be able to accomplish together. All it takes is a little time, a lot of practice, and a huge heart, and there will be nothing that can’t be accomplished.

Sometime after that first show, Santiago purchased a nice house in a place called Pinewood, and shortly after that moved up there. Of course, he still had to find a place where he could keep his horse, but from what he’d heard, that wasn’t going to be a problem. The Realtor had suggested a stable named, appropriately, Pinewood Stables, that he had heard was of excellent quality. Only a day after moving in to the house up there, Santiago set out for the stable, expecting something extravagant. What he found there looked quite impressive. However, he knew, better than most, that looks weren’t everything and that you can’t judge a book by its cover. What he needed was for someone to assure him that this was really the only option for him to take. He wanted the best for Fire’s Aftermath, and he could certainly afford the best.

First he talked to the manager about it. “This is the best choice.” He had assured him, “your horse will be well taken care of here, I promise you that.” But that was what they all said. Everyone always tried to make their stable seem like the best. Everyone made dozens of promises, some f which probably wouldn’t be kept. The only way was to find out for yourself, which was exactly what Santiago was going to do. The next day, he again made an appearance at the stable, but this time didn’t go to the office. He headed in to the stable, seeking out someone who might be willing to give him the inside scoop on the stable and be perfectly honest about it. He might not be able to find that one person, but he would never know until he tried. So here he was, the person just needed to present themselves to him. He was waiting.

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Thanks Isa for helping =]