There are days in management when the cold arithmetic of running a small, ambitious club crashes into the emotional reality of what we are trying to build. Today was one of those days. Chur has lost two of its brightest sparks – Hugo do Llanos and Jesús Segura – two players who shaped our early identity, pushed our level higher, and brought something genuinely rare to this remote Alpine project. And now, they are gone. Hugo to Udinese for around €50,000; Jesús to Lugano for just shy of €40,000. For us, that is real money. For them, it is a deserved step into the next stage of their careers. For me, it is a quiet ache I will carry for a while.

I keep reminding myself that this is the point. We talk endlessly about development, about sharpening ideas and elevating young footballers beyond what this level typically offers. Yet when those players actually leap forward – when their talent shines brightly enough to attract bigger clubs – we feel the loss more sharply than the pride. Hugo and Jesús were never meant to stay forever, not if we were doing our jobs correctly. They needed to be tested, stretched, measured against players operating at higher speeds and sharper levels. Udinese will give Hugo a platform he simply couldn’t find here. Lugano will demand from Jesús the consistency he was only beginning to tap into with us. This is the way it should be. But saying that does not lessen the sting of seeing their lockers empty.

The financial reality makes the departures even more understandable, if not easier to accept. Chur is not a club surrounded by other towns or big markets. We are perched in the largest canton by land and one of the smallest by population, bound by mountains, distance, and the relentless cost of surviving so far from the centres of Swiss football. Travel expenses pile up quickly. Maintaining Obere Au – with all its quirks, ambitions, and the sheer logistical weight of a multi-sport complex – costs us more than outsiders imagine. Every away match is a trek. Every equipment order takes longer and costs more. We operate within limitations that clubs in more accessible parts of Switzerland might never notice. And so, when offers come that allow us to breathe even slightly easier, we must at least listen.

Both players came to see me personally before their departures. That’s what cut deepest of all. Hugo, normally calm, composed, almost stoic, told me – quietly, almost apologetically – that he had never felt so challenged or so supported in his football life. He thanked me for giving him freedom within structure, for demanding that he think about the game rather than just play through instinct. Jesús, emotional in a very different way, spoke openly about how training here reshaped him. He felt seen, he said. He felt coached. When a player says that at this level, after only a short stay, it reminds you that your work is having an impact – even if you only get to enjoy the results for a fleeting moment.

And yet, once the handshakes were done and the contracts signed, the reality returned. We must build again. We must recruit again. We must look at the gaps Hugo and Jesús leave – technically, tactically, psychologically – and begin the process of nurturing the next young players who walk through our doors. This is part and parcel of management at this level; maybe the purest part of it, even if it feels thankless tonight. We polish the stones and watch as others set them into crowns.

I know this cycle will repeat itself. More players will come, they will grow, they will show their potential in the Alpine quiet of Chur, and then – inevitably – they will leave for brighter lights and broader stages. And I will keep feeling this mixture of pride and pain each time.

But if this club is to thrive, we cannot fear that process. We must embrace it, endure it, and find meaning in the moments between arrivals and departures. Hugo do Llanos and Jesús Segura gave us those moments. Now it’s time to help the next ones carve theirs.

Part 2: The Promise of the Arrival

It felt like the valley itself exhaled this morning – soft, cold Alpine air filling my lungs like a promise. Winter light filters through low clouds, the snow resting on the ridges beyond the town, and for the first time in weeks, I felt more anticipation than weariness. Today I welcomed two new men into Chur: Samu Castillejo and Iñigo Ruiz de Galarreta. Two names heavy with history, carrying with them the weight of higher stages – and with them, the possibility that what we are building here might not remain small forever.

Samu Castillejo is 34 now – born 18 January 1995, so nearly his 34th birthday once the winter turns. He’s a winger, a man who has lived in the chaos and glory of top-tier football: Málaga, Villarreal, AC Milan, Valencia, Sassuolo. He’s travelled through fame, pressure, expectations. I saw him walk into Obere Au this morning and realised that for a player who once played San Siro under bright lights, the peaks here and the skies overhead must feel like a refuge -and a challenge. I told him what I always say: we don’t build monuments here. We build people. We build football as reflection of identity: rugged, disciplined, honest. 

Iñigo Ruiz de Galarreta is 35 (born 6 August 1993), a midfielder, a Basque man with that old-school grounding – formed in Athletic Bilbao’s youth system, blooded into Segunda, experienced through years of loans, promotions and relegations. He knows what it means to fight for a place, to rebuild, to adapt. If Samu brings flare, Iñigo brings stability. He comes with a brain sharpened by years of struggle and a heart trained to serve the team first.

The first meeting -a small gathering in the old staff room, mugs of black coffee warming our hands more than our bodies – was quiet at first, calm. We spoke about the mountains, about Chur, about what football means when you strip away the glamour and keep only the essentials: sweat, trust, collective breath. I told them I didn’t expect miracles. I only asked for honesty, effort, and a willingness to build something different: Basque intensity forged in Graubünden silence.

The language of this club is shifting. That quiet mix of Romansh, Swiss-German and local dialect now has Spanish words weaving through it. On the pitch there were small jokes, small smiles, a sense that maybe this winter training camp – often cold, muddy, sparse – could get warmer. After training I saw players sharing small tapas-style dishes improvised from rationed groceries and modest budgets. One mug of coffee stretched between two, a joke in Catalan echoing off the walls. These details matter. They slowly rewire the identity of this group. They tell men: you belong here.

I watched the first session – nothing flashy, no grand entrances, no declarations. But there was a focus. A difference. Samu drifting inside, touching the ball with purpose, still careful with rhythm but dangerous in intention. Iñigo in midfield, asking for the ball, demanding a tone. The younger guys – a few from Graubünden, a few from beyond – looked at them and adjusted posture. Slightly sharper. Slightly more alert.

I felt, for the first time in a long while, that this club might not just survive – that it might grow.

Of course. I know it’s not a guarantee. In smaller clubs like Chur, winter signings can be like candles in the wind. Warm, hopeful, but fragile and temporary. The financial reality still bites: travel costs, upkeep of Obere Au, modest revenue, long winters. There is no easy money here, only work, barked orders at dawn, cold boots and warmer coffee, repeated drills and nervous hope. But last winter I watched complacency creep. It almost stopped this project in its tracks. This winter, maybe we get a second chance. Maybe this time the foundation holds before the storm hits. Tonight I ride home with the mountains etched dark against the sky. The heater in the car is enough to warm my bones, but what holds me tight is something inside -the feeling of possibility. Two men walking in through the door of a small club in Graubünden. Two names that mean something. Two chances to rewrite what this place can be.

If we get it right, Chur will no longer be the end of the road for those who arrive. It will be a beginning. If we get it right, the snow on the peaks will see men who believed in themselves and their neighbours. If we get it right, maybe one day we don’t only climb mountains -maybe we make them part of our identity.

And tonight, as I close my notebook, I believe we can get it right.