In Alicante, a quiet cadre of unnamed supporters kept the flame alive. They rose early, devoted to a club they loved, and on match day they looked for little more than the sight of a neat jersey or a grateful nod from the players after the post-match ritual of a sandwich. These were the people who made the club feel real long before any plaque ever appeared on a wall.
When the team played at Ciudad Deportiva, after moving from Pla Metal, one man stood out as a lifelong subscriber to the cause. He joined the club long before the Palamó field opened, and his influence grew at a moment when Alicante needed a steady hand. In 2014, the club faced a fresh start, and he stepped forward. He and a trusted circle—Paco Espi, Juan Quereda, José Luis Valero, and others—carried the load with a mix of practical strategy and stubborn belief. A single phone call was enough to draw him into a presidency that would shape the team’s direction for years. This was a time when the city’s football heart and the club’s dreams began to intertwine in a new, bold way.
The ensuing months brought visible progress. The team climbed a division, guided by a coach who fostered a cohesive locker room. Players like Tomasín, Angel, and Gonzalo Bonastre formed the core of a squad that carried the club forward. Relationships grew beyond the titles and standings; the presidency and the role of the top scorer shifted, each title lending weight to a shared mission while the inner circle of leaders remained the steady engine. Yet challenges persisted. A relapse of illness reminded everyone that the path was fragile, and the conversations they had in those days—about life, about Alicante—were steeped in a sense of resilience and community.
The recollections of that era often converge on a single memory: a summer chat at a beloved horchatería in Plaza Estella. It was there that the fabric of the club’s beginnings, the juggling acts to keep Alicante within a competitive tier, and the quiet artistry of sustaining a team through shifting leagues were laid bare. The story spoke not of solitary triumphs but of a city learning to stand with its club through every turn. The club’s influence extended beyond the scoreboard. It opened doors through connections in the city, supporting the people who kept the team moving—those who provided services, opportunities, and favors that helped the organization stay afloat in a landscape where football often marched in the shadow of larger regional clubs. At every step, the aim was simple: ensure the players enjoyed the comforts that make a club feel like a home—proper accommodations, a reliable salary, a trusted masseuse, and a memorable post-match meal that left everyone with a sense of belonging. And so the era closed not with a triumphal shout, but with a quiet goodbye that left a lasting imprint on the city’s football culture.