2026/15 - Holidays, so to speak

Holidays are an invention. From the 1800s. Apparently by an English doctor. Before holidays were invented, if someone needed a rest, they simply rested. Since holidays were invented, if someone needs a rest, they go on holiday. And come back more tired than before. That’s progress for you. In fact, these days, to put it vaguely, we say we go on holiday to recharge our batteries. Whatever that means. Not least because some people go to New York to recharge. As in the book NAIF.SUPER by the Norwegian writer Erlend Loe. Because there’s a great energy in New York. I don’t think ‘energy’ refers to optimal conditions for rest. But I’ve never been there. Maybe that’s the case. Anyway. What the English doctor advised his patients in the 1800s – and subsequently, indirectly, all of us Western sheep in the spirit of mass emulation – is that the answer to our problems lies in a particular place. That happiness lies in a particular place. A place other than where we currently find ourselves. Madam, you need some rest; I’m prescribing a holiday for you. Can’t I rest at home? No. But I live in a lovely cottage in the countryside. No, madam, you must go and rest in Egypt. Every now and then, even I, as a games designer, need to recharge my batteries. And so, like a good Western sheep, I go on holiday. To Orzinuovi. A small village near Brescia, in Italy. But, contrary to what you might superficially think, I don’t go there to rest. I go to recharge my batteries. Orzinuovi is my New York. For the past five years, at the start of every summer. I go there to test game prototypes. Mine and others’. For a whole weekend. Together with fellow game designers. Content creator friends. Playtester friends. Organiser friends. Friends I haven’t met yet but will become friends with. And I return home tired. But brimming with new ideas. No, dear 19th-century English doctor. For me, holidays aren’t about places. For me, holidays are about people. 

 

2026/14 - Neutrality

You play to win. Although in life I have sometimes lost on purpose. Against my children when they were little. But that’s another story. Ah, once I actually considered losing on purpose. Against a publisher. I thought that if I let him win, I’d have a better chance of him publishing my game. But then I thought, what would I look like if I, who know my game better than anyone, lost to the first person who came along? So I won. The publisher was actually quite put out. Perhaps I shouldn’t have won by such a landslide. But then he published the game anyway. But that’s another story too. You play to win, as I said, but I accept losing calmly. No problem at all. However. I do get upset if I lose because of tie-break criteria. I remember it well. A friend and I scored more points than our opponents. But exactly the same number of points between us. That was fine by me. Like Tamberi and Bershim in the high jump at the Tokyo Olympics. Can we have two gold medals? Yes. Everyone’s happy. But my friend insisted on consulting those diabolical, unnatural tiebreaker criteria contained in paragraphs of the rules that I’d completely skipped over. Which decreed that he was the sole winner. I was gutted. Just as Bruce Wayne, after witnessing the murder of his parents, decided to become BATMAN. So I decided that if I ever became a game designer, my games would have no tiebreaker criteria. Victory is shared. Stop. Arianna, the graphic designer behind the stunning visuals in our games, told me that she laughs about this when I’m not around. And that she sums it up in two words: ‘He’s Swiss.’

 

2026/13 - All’s well that ends

“Give me a boat, said the man. And what, may I ask, do you want a boat for? asked the king. To go in search of the unknown island, replied the man. Nonsense, there are no more unknown islands, they’re all on the maps. Only known islands appear on maps. And what is this unknown island you wish to seek? If I could tell you, then it wouldn’t be unknown.’”
José Saramago, The Tale of the Unknown Island

It’s happened to all of us. Some win. Some lose. Those who won enjoyed the game. Those who lost did not. Those who won say the game is good. Those who lost say the game is bad. Everything that has a beginning has an end, says the film THE MATRIX. And as the apocalyptic final sign at the Cannes Festival des Jeux warns. It’s not like that for game designers. I was asked how many games I’ve invented. Currently 71. I’ve published 15. The other 56 aren’t finished. What does it mean that they aren’t finished? Inventing a game isn’t a recipe. It’s not like in a sushi restaurant where you see a photo of the dish that’s about to arrive. Inventing a game is a journey in search of a destination you don’t know. Actually, no. It’s a journey in search of a destination you’re not even sure exists. Like the man who asks the king for a boat in Nobel Prize winner Saramago’s story. A concept later summarised by the 883: “Nord sud ovest est e forse quel che cerco neanche c'è." (North south west east and perhaps what I’m looking for doesn’t even exist). How do you know if a game is finished? Some great designers say it’s a feeling. At a certain point, you just feel that the game is finished. Other great designers say that a game is never finished. That at a certain point in the publishing process, they have to decide that it’s finished. I, in my own small way, answered like this. During a playtest session, a player played one of my prototypes. And he came last, out of five. He asked to play it again. And he came last again, out of five. Then he said to me. I liked the game. A lot. Even though I lost. I liked losing.

 

2026/12 - Praise be to the content creator

Once upon a time, there were Dante, Petrarch and Manzoni. Today, there are bloggers, YouTubers and content creators. Back in the 1980s, a Japanese TV programme discussed the benefits of chocolate. The very next day, chocolate was SOLD OUT across the whole of Japan. I was told this by some Japanese people. I have no reason to doubt that it actually happened. But it matters little. This is what people think happens when a content creator talks about a board game. As a publisher, I can assure you that this is not the case. Although I wouldn’t swear to it for Japan. Content creators are storytellers. We like to listen to them gathered round the fire of our mobile phones. Like children enchanted by wise old men recounting marvellous, distant experiences. Some even express opinions. Of course. They’re wise. But let’s be honest. Hands up anyone who’s never been wary of a glowing review. And hands up anyone who’s never been intrigued by a scathing one. Content creators are the equivalent of photos of babies in hospital maternity wards. They announce the birth. Tobia has been born. Terraforming Mars has been born. It’s the same thing. That is why we should be grateful for it. Because life is worth celebrating. Then each of us is capable of forming our own personal opinion. All the more so since ‘several studies suggest that board game enthusiasts tend to have an above-average IQ or, at the very least, develop superior cognitive skills’. We’re players. We’re used to making choices. And it seems we’re pretty smart too. So. Just because your closest friend says to you, “You know, I reckon you and (name of person you don’t know) would be a good match,” doesn’t mean you go up to (name of person you don’t know) and ask, “Will you marry me?”. I mean, you do form at least some sort of idea before making any decision. Whether it’s a big one or a small one. Like buying a board game.

 

2026/11 - Old news

German philosophers between the 1700s and the 1800s coined the concept of Zeitgeist. Which means ‘the spirit of the times’. And it’s the title of an album by the Smashing Pumpkins. But that’s beside the point. If something is beautiful, it is beautiful. It doesn’t matter whether it’s new or old. But the world doesn’t see it that way. If you ask for a book from a couple of years ago in a bookshop, you’re looked at askance as if you were asking for the original manuscript of the Divine Comedy. The world constantly offers up novelties that are soon replaced by new novelties. Old novelties simply become old. And so on. It’s not a question of beautiful/ugly but of new/old. From which it follows, by the transitive property, that new = beautiful and old = ugly. Welcome to the 2000s. At my first PLAY in Bologna, I felt like a guest. As if I were visiting someone’s home. And it seemed wrong to turn up empty-handed. The fair, a product of its time, demands the latest novelties—if possible, the very latest novelties. From the Swiss mountains of Heidi. Much like Pozzetto in THE COUNTRY BOY. I set off for the fair. With a few new things. Out of politeness. Like a teetotaller bringing a bottle of cheap wine to a dinner with friends. I brought what I had, namely the first copies of the three new games that will be in the shops, but only in the autumn. In the format stipulated by the fair: demos that couldn’t be bought. In other words, you could try out the three new games but you couldn’t buy them. Just think how mean that is. In my opinion, Dante forgot to include a circle of Hell for people who behaved like that in life. We let them play all day Friday. The response was brilliant. But on Saturday – precisely because of that brilliant response – feeling guilty towards all those who had been asking us in vain to buy them, we decided to hide them. Behind the counter. And to play and sell only the old games. Like people from the 1900s. You can disagree with your own Zeitgeist.

 

2026/10 - Enchanted

Walking into a board game fair is like stepping into another dimension. Like Schwarzenegger in *Last Action Hero*. Or like *Roger Rabbit* for those unfamiliar with John McTiernan’s film. He may not be Akira Kurosawa, but he’s created his own masterpieces all the same. Italy’s biggest board game fair is held every year in Bologna and is called PLAY. No one has yet figured out whether it’s a masculine or feminine noun. Some call it ‘la PLAY’. Others call it ‘il PLAY’. It matters little. For the first time in the year-and-a-half history of our publishing house, we were there too. A wonderful memory. Although I remember some things, others I don’t. That’s how memory works. It’s as if there were a data limit. I remember, for example, that in secondary school during religious education lessons I watched DERSU UZALA. Why on earth did my memory choose to recall a Russian film directed by a Japanese director? It was only many years later that I discovered it was Akira Kurosawa. I’d probably mistaken him at the time for Akira Toriyama, the creator of Dragon Ball. It’s a mystery to me. Anyway. I remember that, before leaving a campsite, Dersu Uzala prepares firewood and food for those who will come after him. He cares about people he doesn’t know. He thinks of those who will come after him. That is the film’s beautiful message. Whilst I was at PLAY, or at PLAY, I thought that is what happens to me as a games designer. Whilst I’m designing games, I worry about people I don’t know. I think of those who will play them after me. To date, over 50,000 copies of my games have been sold worldwide. Apart from friends and family, the rest are strangers. They are numbers. Numbers of shops. Orders from distributors. Sales reports. The most magical thing for me about the fair was that it turned these numbers into people. Like Cinderella’s pumpkin coach. People I was able to meet. Exchange a few words with. Play together. Be happy, for a moment, together.

 

2026/09 - Where there are six cooks, there’s nothing to eat

Everyone knows that Switzerland is small. Many know that, despite its small size, three different languages are spoken there: German, French and Italian. Few know that, in reality, four are spoken. There’s also ‘Romansh’. But very few people speak it. Anyway. In Switzerland, different languages are spoken. That’s why we rely on multilingual regulations. Everyone’s happy. The problem is the titles. They have to suit everyone. In German, French and Italian. Which is why, often, when three parties are arguing, the fourth one wins. No, not Romansh. But English. There are, however, places that couldn’t care less about our multilingual constraints. Take Poland, for example. Which has ditched our mundane English titles in favour of the more charming Polish ones. A language of which, until yesterday, I knew only the words Lewandowski and Boniek. Yet I’ve discovered it’s full of beautiful expressions. Like ‘it’s not my circus, they’re not my monkeys’ to say it’s none of my business. Like ‘throwing peas at the wall’ when someone won’t listen. Or like the title of this chapter.
METEO has become TAKI MAMY KLIMAT. Which means ‘what can you do, this is the weather we’ve got’, a lovely way of saying that that’s just the way things are, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
WOOL STREET has become LOWCA TRENDOW. Which means “trend hunter”. Moving away from English makes sense. Although I reckon “trendow” still has some English roots.
BLUE PENGUIN has become KOLEJNO ODLICZ. Two words. My first thought is that it must mean ‘blue penguin’ in Polish. But no. It means ‘countdown’, ‘counting in order’ or ‘taking the roll call one by one’. Depending on the machine translator. I fail to see the relevance to the theme. But in reality, it’s just envy of those who can afford poetry.

 

2026/08 - His Highness

Keith Johnstone, a master of theatrical improvisation, says of creativity: ‘You don’t need to worry about what “comes out”. What “comes out” is only important to critics and psychologists.’ To understand why small games “come out” of me, I should perhaps look into my subconscious. Or perhaps into my childhood. Who knows. Perhaps I associate small things with happy memories. Perhaps with the Smurfs. Whereas with big games I associate the negative figure of Gargamel. Who knows. But this is the answer I give myself. I wanted to tiptoe into the world of board games. Let me try to explain myself better. In game design, there are no categories. It’s as if, simply by picking up a table tennis bat, you suddenly found yourself at Wimbledon playing against Roger Federer. There are no half-measures. You’re either a game designer or you’re not. And if you are, you find yourself in the ring with the big guns. Like a Royal Rumble. In 2022, the first time I attended the world’s largest games fair in Essen, Germany, I met Antoine Bauza. One of the world’s best game designers. You can imagine how awkward it was for me to have to answer ‘Yes’ to his question: ‘Are you a game designer too?’. It’s as if Sean Connery had asked me: “Are you an actor too?” and I’d replied: “Yes” because I’d played the part of a shepherd in the parish Christmas play. It wasn’t a lie because, technically, I’d already signed my first contract and my first game was due to be published a few months later. In my defence, it seemed intellectually honest to frame the situation correctly. But at the time, I didn’t think of the comparison with Sean Connery. So I pointed out that if he was a mountain, I was a hill. He replied: “You’ve got to start somewhere.” Ever since then, I’ve held dear the idea that a hill is a mountain that has only just begun. That hills dream of becoming mountains. My games are hills.

 

2026/07 - What a holiday in Egypt

Some people create great literature. Great cinema. Great music. We, on the other hand, make little games. So small, in fact, that we’ve added the words ‘MINI CARD GAME’ to the box to make it clear what’s inside. When a friend meets another friend with a new haircut, she says, ‘You look lovely!’ It doesn’t matter if she really means it. You say it to avoid any awkwardness.  More or less the same thing happens when someone sees our little games for the first time. To avoid any awkwardness, they say to me: “That way they’ll fit in my suitcase!” Which sounds less like a compliment and more like “I might consider playing your games on holiday—that is, on those rare days of the year when I actually go away”. Although, I don’t know about you, but when I go on holiday I take IKEA bags full of board games precisely because those are the days of the year when I have even more time to play. But I’m biased. After all, the mass tourist destinations of the people I hang out with aren’t New York, Paris and Venice. They’re Cannes (late February), Bologna (late May) and Essen (late October). Destinations where you don’t need to bring games because it would be like taking beer to Oktoberfest. So no, we didn’t design the small boxes for our games with holidays in mind. Nor did we do it to stop you from using the excuse, ‘I didn’t buy them because I didn’t have any more space at home’. But for other reasons. Which I’ll tell you about another time, because I’ve set myself a maximum word count per chapter. Then I discover that Alberto and Valentina really did take our little toys on holiday to Egypt. Just like the garden gnomes in the film *Amélie*. And that perhaps some of those who tell me, “That way they’ll fit in the suitcase!” actually mean it.

 

2026/06 - Playing your own games

In life, it happens that you end up doing something else. Even to Hollywood stars. Julia Roberts. Brad Pitt. Jennifer Aniston. They’re actors who used to be waiters. Or, depending on your point of view, they’re waiters who act. I wonder when you become something else. A game designer, for instance. Being a game designer isn’t a degree. It happened to me. When a game I invented became bigger than me. Shortly before, I had my own little personal joy. Shortly after, that little joy was passed on to other people. It happened when the joy got the better of me. It might be a small joy, but it can also be a great joy. If it reaches a lot of people. And I found myself trying to invent another game. Possibly a better one. Because if I managed it once, I’m not quite sure how, perhaps I could do it again. But better. To try and bring joy to even more people. For others. I’ve been invited to the Cannes Festival again this year. On the Croisette. Just like Julia Roberts, Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston. In the very same Palais des Festivals. Except that they’re invited to the Cannes Film Festival. Whereas I’m at the Cannes Games Festival. Which, in my opinion, is better. But I’m biased. Anyway. I’ve been invited to my French distributor’s stand. To play my games. I know it sounds strange to travel 400 km just to play my own games. But I always enjoy playing them. Thank goodness. Thank goodness I always enjoy playing them. Because I have to play them all day. All day Thursday. All day Friday. All day Saturday. And all day Sunday. So I thought that perhaps it isn’t true that I have to try and make good games for other people.

 

2026/05 - Not recommended

There are three types of game that are not recommended for publication. 1) Seasonal games, such as my Christmas game. 2) Games with a religious theme, such as my game set in a convent. 3) Games with a sports theme. The only one missing from my list was a sports-themed game. I decided to fill this gap. Because I think that in the world of board games, where thousands of new games are published every year, there is a risk of publishing too many games set, for example, in ancient Greece. I thought of a game about athletics. Like many of you, I get really into the Olympics every four years. Then, for the next four years, I ignore all sports. Apart from football. The last Olympics are long gone and the next ones are still a long way off. It’s the worst possible time, even from a marketing perspective. But I like the fact that the setting fits with the gameplay experience. And when I play, I feel like I’m ‘training’ when I draw cards, and ‘struggling’ when I discard them. So I thought of athletics. The decathlon, to be precise, because I have to plan my training around the different disciplines. King Gustav V described the winner of the first decathlon at the 1912 Olympics as “the greatest athlete in the world”. Tell me if a card game where players try to be “the greatest athlete in the world” isn’t appealing. But international distributors advised me against publishing a sports-themed game. What did I tell you? I tried to convince them by talking about the Olympic spirit. I quoted Gustav V. I mentioned in passing that the sports theme could still be tied in with ancient Greece. Silence. If the game is set in ancient Greece, then it’s fine. So. Please. If you mention it, leave out unnecessary details about athletics, the Olympics and the decathlon, and just say that the third game in the upcoming MINI CARD GAME trilogy will be a game about ancient Greece.

 

2026/04 - Things of Another World

 “Play is an action, or a voluntary activity, carried out within certain defined limits of time and space, according to a voluntarily accepted rule, and which nevertheless engages one completely, having an end in itself; accompanied by a sense of tension and joy, and by the awareness of ‘being different’ from ‘ordinary life’. It seemed to us that we could regard this category of ‘play’ as one of the most fundamental spiritual elements of life.”
Johan Huizinga, HOMO LUDENS, 1939

A few years ago, I visited a convent. As a visitor, not a resident. It was a deeply moving experience nonetheless. And it was even more moving to visit it as a game designer. As soon as I crossed the threshold, I thought: ‘Here, the rules of the game are different’. Now, read Huizinga’s quote again and tell me if the definition of play doesn’t also seem like the perfect description of a convent. The convent’s cloister is like a huge, life-size game board, complete with 3D pop-ups. Reading the sacred texts reminded me of hours spent reading the rules. Time stands still. It seems to never pass. Like waiting for your turn in a game after a serial thinker. And then silence. A sigh. A feeling of ideal peace that doesn’t exist in the library in my town where we’ve gathered to play, because our tables are close to the children’s play area. And that’s when I started thinking. In our world, the winner is the one who wins; I wanted a game where the loser wins. A game in which, instead of the arrogance of overtaking, the courtesy of letting others pass prevails. A race in which you try to finish last. A challenge of kindness. That is the premise. The result, however, is the least kind of all the games I have published. Never mind. The theme of the second of the next three games in the MINI CARD GAME series will be a convent. Amen.

 

2026/03 - The Beauty of Ugliness

As a child, I used to play board games; now I invent them. Do you know those heart-warming stories about people who’ve made their dreams come true? Rubbish. As a child, I loved VIDEO games. And being of a certain age, the video games of our time were what they were. Even the ugly ones. Let’s be honest. But no new, beautiful video game will ever replace the old, ugly ones in our hearts. Which we thought were beautiful. Which, to us, were beautiful. Just like our classmates. The most beautiful in the world. Because our world was our classroom. Not like today, when the world has become as big as the world itself. It’s not what’s beautiful that’s beautiful, but what you like that’s beautiful – that’s what we were taught as children. The beautiful ugliness of yesteryear taught us, however, that beautiful things are those that leave beautiful memories. That no one can take them away from you. Our times. When video games were played in company. In an arcade. Or at a friend’s house. Those were the real ‘party games’. Times when a friend was "quella cosa che più ce n'è, meglio è" (the sort of thing where the more, the merrier) an Italian hit from the 1980s. But those were different times, our times. Times when the whole of humanity was united. To defend our planet together. From invasions of pixels. The first of the next three new MINI CARD GAMES will be themed around old vintage video games. Vintage, just like me.

 

2026/02 - Flowers in winter

I spent a weekend in the middle of nowhere. Out in the countryside. Surrounded by nature. Right next to a motorway junction. One of the many places in the world in the middle of nowhere, but which, for convenience’s sake, I’ll call ‘Parma’. On a sort of spiritual retreat. Like a hermit. But with 664 other people. Who’d all had the same idea as me at the same time. To shut ourselves away in the middle of nowhere. Not just because it was winter. To test prototypes of board games. Prototypes. Games not yet finished. Which might not work. Even if that sounds a bit harsh. I did it to choose the
next three new games to be published in the MINI CARD GAME series. But everyone present had their own valid reasons for being there. To play. Day and night. In every room. Corridor. Hall. Although it’s a bit hard to believe that in ‘Parma’ there’s a ‘Hall’. Let’s call it a foyer. Here are the official figures: 368 designers, 170 playtesters, 25 press/bloggers, 22 publishers, 80 operators. No, I don’t know who the “operators” are. But they were there, according to the event’s official statement. 665 people who, for days and nights on end, stare at, grasp and move scraps of paper and pieces of cardboard as if they were sacred relics. With the same look of wonder as children gazing at their paper and cardboard creations. Thousands of prototypes, games, ideas. Games that are more or less beautiful. Mostly less. But which one day might become so. Beautiful. Fabulous. Like Andersen’s fairy tales. Not all of them have a happy ending. But in ‘Parma’, right next to a motorway junction, wonders can blossom. That is why Italian game designers head to “Parma” once a year with their prototypes. For the same reason people go to Lourdes. And in this wintery, fairy-tale setting, straight out of an Andersen story, we have chosen the next three games that will continue the MINI CARD GAME series.

 

2026/01 - The Difficulty of Getting Started

When the great Spanish cellist and conductor Pablo Casals turned 95, a young journalist asked him, “Mr Casals, you are 95 years old and the greatest cellist who ever lived. Why do you continue to practise for six hours a day?” Pablo Casals replied, “Because I think I’m making progress.”

They say the hardest part is getting started. But what about keeping going? To start with, you can kick things off with a masterpiece, but any old rubbish will do just fine. But to keep going, the rubbish has to be at least better than the last bit of rubbish. It’s not easy choosing the three new games that will continue the MINI CARD GAME series. It’s not easy trying to keep getting better and better. And the fact that GiocaGiullari have ranked one of our games in the TOP TEN of the best games released last year doesn’t exactly help to lower expectations. Sometimes I miss the carefree spirit of the early days. When something doesn’t exist yet, it’s always a potential masterpiece. One day, a classmate asked the teacher if anyone had got top marks in the test. ‘Yes,’ replied the teacher. She smiled happily. ‘Maybe it’s me,’ she said. In reality, she got a 2.5. But she was in a class where someone had got top marks, so, potentially, it could have been her. Choosing the first games to publish was that kind of joy. Two years and 10 games later, however, we worry more. Over 5,000 new board games are published every year, according to a random internet search. I don’t remember the source, so let’s just stick to ‘hearsay’. So it’s fair to ask whether the world of games needs yet another new game. And if we’ve already made games in our lives, whether we’re capable of doing ‘better’. But perhaps I’m worrying all this because I belong to a generation that grew up listening to songs like ‘Si può dare di più’ (We can do better).

Naivina, Switzerland.