So, look, Luis Perez is basically this guy you can’t convince otherwise. It’s like he’s got this internal compass that’s hell-bent on pointing him toward pro football, come hell or high water. I mean, the dude’s résumé is bonkers. When he was a kid, he went to a bowling party and ended up bowling 12 perfect games as an amateur, nearly joining the pro bowling scene. Seriously, that happened. Also, he schooled himself in pool shots on YouTube just to beat his coach. That’s dedication—or stubbornness? Maybe both.
And don’t even get me started on his football journey. Guy’s never played a game of football in high school. Not as a quarterback, anyway. But YouTube saved the day again. Perez taught himself how to throw like some kind of self-schooled prodigy and somehow clawed his way onto college football teams and—get this—a few NFL squads. Five times he got the boot. But, yeah, stopping isn’t in his vocabulary, apparently. Every spring you’ll find him in some league, trying to latch on to his NFL dream like a bulldog with a bone, alway keeping it alive in this “Spring King” persona he’s crafted. It’s sorta bittersweet because he’s always almost there, but not quite.
So here he is, at 30, back with the Arlington Renegades in the UFL, just doing his thing. Two games in, and what do you know? He’s bossing the airwaves, leading in passing yards again. Can’t make this up. Luis hits the nail on the head when he says, “I know I can play at the highest level.” He’s got the taste, the vision, and the tenacity to prove it.
Now, here’s a thing that’s pretty mind-blowing: his upbringing. Growing up in San Diego, with a dad who was a professional soccer player in Mexico, he tried joining a youth football league, but that didn’t pan out initially. His dad petitioned for a team of the undrafted kids, and they used those bouncy castles as tackling dummies! The team lost its first game in a blowout fashion, 50-zip. How wild is that?
I should mention, his high school ran this wing-T offense where he ended up playing tight end—which was not where he saw himself. Then there’s this moment, where high school friends get him to watch a game, and something clicks. The goosebumps thing? Yeah, it was real. He realized then and there, football wasn’t out of his system, tried to join the team for the last games of the season, but it didn’t fly.
Perez, ever the resourceful guy, gets back to throwing, learning from YouTube yet again. He meets Akili Smith—a former NFL quarterback and starts getting pointers. The key takeaway from his mentor is this: Perez didn’t have to tweak his throw mechanics much. Just goes to show, some things are just natural.
So he ends up connecting with a coach at Southwestern Junior College thanks to Smith’s good word, who reluctantly gives him a shot. I mean, who else rocks up wearing mismatched helmets and pads because nothing fits?! Still, he went at it like a pit bull with a chew toy. By sheer stubbornness (or fate, perhaps), he ends up in the driver’s seat by the end of camp, sliding from the ninth-string quarterback to a near starter when others dropped out.
You know, when he goes home with a broken leg—no, not to rest—he still comes to practice. Like, why? Because why not try to play with a cast, right? But once he was back on his feet, highlights galore: 18 touchdowns, only three pickoffs; suddenly D-I schools took notice. But it fizzled ‘cause his credits wouldn’t transfer or offers felt half-hearted. So what’s he do? Internet rabbit hole time. He finds out about D-II guys making it pro and zeros in on Texas A&M-Commerce where he eventually lands.
And let’s talk grit: he sets up a 4 a.m. workout squad, inspired by offseason sessions with Drew Brees—yes, that Brees. More than two dozen folks were caught by the infectious work ethic by season start. Pretty soon, Perez leads Commerce to a national championship and wins the D-II equivalent of the Heisman, the Harlon Hill Trophy. Man’s an unstoppable force.
Still, the NFL draft ship sails by him, despite all that hard graft. Perez ends up clawing his way to a Rams local camp tryout, and next thing you know, he’s signed on. And McVay himself? Well, he jokes about getting beat into the office by Perez. If that’s not commitment, what is? But again, the story repeats: signed, waived, rinse, repeat. A cycle of leagues, accolades, and shutdowns. Just when you think it’s over—the alliance league shutters, COVID hits the XFL—Perez adapts, switches track, finding a new springboard in various springtime leagues. Even after a broken foot squashes another deal, he’s not giving up.
That’s Luis, full tilt toward a clear finish line only visible to him. Perez will probably ever be Plan B guy because life, teams, or timing just likes doing that to him. But no insight here, only a certainty: sometimes braving it out, pure determination, sheer stubbornness—maybe it’s enough. He’s not shutting the door yet. So he soldiers on, swinging at whatever pitch life throws his way, and here’s hoping, he’ll knock it out of the park.
