Summers in Graubünden offer a strange kind of stillness. The mountains do not ask anything of you. They simply remain, solid and unmoved, while everything else continues to shift. On my walks through the town, past the cafés where the smell of strong coffee, pastries and chocolate hangs in the air, I often find myself thinking about identity. Not as a coach, not as a manager, but as a man. A husband. A father. A son who has buried both parents. A brother who never truly left the roadside in Graubünden where Iker died. Home still pulls at me. Zarautz always will. I have made peace with the deaths of my parents, with the passage of time, with the reality that life moves forward whether you are ready or not. But Chur is different. This is where grief became responsibility, where family became something I had to actively hold together rather than simply belong to. Even now, after eleven years, that pull remains. Not loudly, not painfully, but persistently.
This season has taken more out of me than I care to admit. Outwardly, things look stable. Successful, even. Inwardly, there is fatigue. A quiet exhaustion that comes from constant decision-making, constant visibility, constant expectation. It is not burnout. It is something subtler. The kind that forces you to think more carefully about why you do things, not just how.
I have spent more time than usual reading this summer. Not tactics. Not data. History. Folklore. Governance. The long view. One figure in particular has stayed with me: Johann II of Liechtenstein. Known as “the Good”, he ruled for over seventy years, with Elizabeth II only becoming the longest European monarch, overtaking him, in 2022. When he ascended the throne at the tender age of eighteen, Liechtenstein was poor, exposed and directionless. When he died, it was stable and resilient. He rarely appeared. He rarely interfered publicly. He did not chase moments. He built structures. He modernised the country, becoming a patron of arts, rebuilding Liechtenstein Castle in 1884 and Vaduz castle in 1920, despite never actually living in the country.
What struck me most was not what he did, but how he did it. Quiet leadership. Predictability. He prepared a country for a future he would never see. His reign spanned the Austro-Hungarian Empire, World War I, economic shocks across Europe and a significant change to the landscape, yet he modernised quietly, removed what no longer served the state, and built institutions that outlasted individuals.
Recruitment, for us, follows the same logic. Our pillars are not chosen for moments, but for decades – the players who make everything else possible. I opt for Swiss players and Basque players because it is what I know, not because I am staunchly anti-foreign player or nationalistic. I sign players to be a part of the team not to build a team around, and nobody is bigger than Chur – not even I. I do not want to be emotionally detached or removed from this. That is a fear I carry with me. But I do aspire to that kind of leadership. Calm. Clear. Long-term. Leadership that does not demand applause, only function.
Johann has shaped how I think about recruitment, and how I speak to Mikel and the team about it. Yet, there has been no philosophical shift. This is how we have always worked. Manager and sporting direction aligned. But I feel more convicted than ever. That is why I did not take up the permanent option on Daniel Haas. It would have been easy. Safe. A moment. Instead, we chose continuity of idea.
Recruitment, for us, is not about flashes. It is about pillars.
These conversations are internal. They are not for press releases or fan forums. But they guide everything. I think we have four pillars at Chur and I want to build the next few years, the next generation of local and not-so-local talent, around them:
Guiliano is only twenty-three and already has over two hundred appearances for this club. He debuted in the fourth tier. He has grown with us, physically and mentally. Strong, resilient, dependable. There has been interest for over a year now, and I am not naïve about that. But he represents exactly what we are trying to build. Xavier Jenkinson is the one I recognise myself in most. Brains over brawn. Control over chaos. He has developed enormously in two years, not just as a footballer but as a thinker of the game. These are the players who hold teams together when the noise rises. Xabier Iriondo had, by his standards, a difficult season. And yet he now sits third in our all-time goal contribution list with eighty-nine. That matters. Not because of numbers, but because of what consistency over time represents. Loyalty. Trust. Continuity. Mario Silva’s breakout last season felt like a beginning rather than a peak. There is still so much ahead of him, and our responsibility is to ensure that growth is supported rather than rushed.
All four are on new contracts. They know what they are to us. That clarity matters.
There are tensions, of course. Fans still speak about Andrea Favara, about whether sentimentality clouds judgement. That is part of this job. But pillars are not chosen because they are popular. They are chosen because they make everything else possible.
I am not thinking about leaving. This does not feel like an end phase. It feels like the start of something more patient, more deliberate. Something built to last. If this entry is ever read years from now, I hope it reads as wisdom rather than hesitation. Long-term planning, yes. But with the conviction to do what is right, even when it is quiet, even when it is unseen.
Like the mountains, still standing, while everything else moves.
The Gaffers Lounge 
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