The competition once staged during halftime at the Hércules home venue, Rico Pérez, drew a crowd of eager fans and left a quiet, thoughtful note in the season’s routine. The event, designed to challenge participants to hit a goal from the very center of the field, promised a prize of 300 euros for those who could convert that distance into a successful strike. Three players rose to the podium in the final tally: David Espuch Limiñana, Nicolás Allés Cantó, and José Manuel Pérez Olivare. Yet, the dream of cash in hand remained unrealized that day, as the shots from midfield did not find the back of the net, despite the many cheers and the collective frustration of spectators who believed a perfect moment might finally arrive at the best possible time. The applause was sincere, and the effort was unmistakable, but fate and the goalkeeper’s reflexes kept the prize unclaimed.
The layout of the contest was straightforward. A coupon, printed daily in the newspaper, would be released to readers who wished to participate. Anyone could fill out as many coupons as they wanted, provided they included the necessary contact information so a winner could be reached if the ball happened to cross the line in the right way. On match days, participants would drop their completed coupons into ballot boxes placed near the stadium gates, waiting to see if luck or accuracy would carry their name into the next round of the contest. The process rewarded enthusiasm as much as precision: more coupons meant more chances, but the outcome relied entirely on a later judgment of chance meeting skill.
The broadcast of the event and the reports surrounding it were equally part of the spectacle. The competition was a recurring feature that would appear again whenever Hércules took the field at Rico Pérez, turning the stadium into a stage where fans could test a piece of their own ambition against the clock and the pitch. A coupon would surface in the newspaper every day, inviting readers to participate, with the printed version serving as the quiet, physical reminder of a chance worth pursuing. The ritual was simple: fans filled the forms, submitted them at the gates, and waited for the next home game to measure whether another midfielder’s shot could spark the same excitement or perhaps yield a different outcome. In some ways, it was less about the prize and more about the collective ritual—a small, shared dream that turned a routine match day into a moment of potential glory.
As the competition unfolded across multiple editions of the paper, readers were reminded that the possibility of a perfect strike can surface even in the most ordinary settings. The idea persisted: a single moment, connected to the center of the field, could rewrite a segment of the match day narrative. The participants who climbed the ranks—the three men named above—cemented their names into the memory of the event, even if the prize slipped away in the end. For the fans who collected coupons, the excitement lay not only in the potential payout but also in the simple act of involvement. It was a way to stay connected to the rhythm of the team, a way to engage with the home games outside of the 90 minutes on the pitch.
This ongoing program demonstrated how a well-placed contest can amplify the energy around a club’s home fixtures. It encouraged ongoing reader participation, community engagement, and the sense that the club and its supporters shared in a broader narrative than the match itself. In the end, the 300-euro incentive did not alter the basic arithmetic of the game or guarantee a win, but it added a layer of communal anticipation to every halftime, every whistle, and every crowd roar. The experience remained a notable feature of Hércules’ match days, a reminder that sports communities thrive on small challenges, shared risks, and the excitement of watching ordinary moments become extraordinary through chance and hopeful effort. sports archive.