Obere Au, long after midnight.

I returned to the stadium tonight, alone again. I do this often. Not out of ritual, but out of necessity. When the noise is gone and the air settles, I can finally see things as they truly are.

Perfectionism is not something you choose. It chooses you. It means you cannot ignore details others are comfortable overlooking. A yard of grass. The angle of a run. The silence before a press is triggered. These things stay with me. They follow me home, they sit beside my bed, they demand answers.

That is why Obere Au has become so important to me.

We have shaped it into the longest and narrowest pitch in the league. Every regulation exploited, every boundary pushed to its limit. Not for spectacle, not for excuses – but to make the pitch itself speak our language. Vertical. Aggressive. Uncomfortable. This is a field that invites pressure and then punishes it. A field where space exists only forward, never sideways.

The grass has been pulled as close as possible to the supporters. There is only one stand, but it leans into the pitch like a wall. Our fans are not distant observers; they are inside the game. They hear every shout, every collision, every instruction. With the smallest attendance in the division, we cannot rely on volume – so we rely on proximity. Intensity over numbers. Presence over noise.

That closeness matters more than people realise. When we press, the crowd feels it immediately. When we bait pressure, they sense the trap before it springs. Our players draw energy from that nearness. Our opponents feel watched, hurried, exposed. There is no space here to breathe, no wide channel to escape into and reset.

The pitch itself dictates behaviour. Build-up becomes braver because the distances are shorter. Pressing becomes sharper because the exits are limited. Our 2-3 base stays compact and connected, our front five arrive quicker, closer together, with less need to drift or wait. When we break a press, there is only one direction to go – forward – and there is a long stretch of grass waiting to be attacked at speed.

Everything here reinforces who we are.

And I know this, perhaps more clearly than anything else: our home record will decide our survival in this division. Not reputation. Not sympathy. Not long-term promises. Survival is built here, match by match, under these lights, between these lines.

So yes, I will chase every advantage. I will measure, adjust, refine, and repeat until nothing is left untouched. Not because I want control for its own sake, but because at this level conviction is not optional. It is oxygen.

If perfectionism is a flaw, then it is one I accept without hesitation. Because at Obere Au, nothing is accidental – and everything is deliberate.