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I went to the basement, cleaned the weighing machine I had avoided for several years and observed the display: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had shed nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a official who was bulky and untrained to being lean and conditioned. It had taken time, filled with determination, hard calls and priorities. But it was also the beginning of a shift that slowly introduced anxiety, tension and discomfort around the examinations that the top management had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a good umpire, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, looking like a elite official, that the mass and adipose levels were correct, otherwise you risked being reprimanded, getting fewer matches and finding yourself in the cold.

When the refereeing organisation was replaced during the mid-2010 period, Pierluigi Collina brought in a series of reforms. During the first year, there was an strong concentration on body shape, body mass assessments and adipose tissue, and required optical assessments. Vision tests might sound like a given practice, but it had not been before. At the training programs they not only examined basic things like being able to read small text at a specific range, but also targeted assessments tailored to professional football referees.

Some officials were discovered as colour blind. Another proved to be lacking vision in one eye and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the whispers suggested, but no one knew for sure – because concerning the results of the optical assessment, nothing was revealed in larger groups. For me, the optical check was a reassurance. It demonstrated professionalism, meticulousness and a aim to get better.

Concerning tests of weight and adipose measurement, however, I mostly felt revulsion, irritation and embarrassment. It wasn't the tests that were the issue, but the way they were conducted.

The opening instance I was forced to endure the degrading process was in the late 2010 period at our annual course. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the first morning, the umpires were separated into three groups of about 15. When my unit had walked into the large, cold conference room where we were to gather, the management instructed us to undress to our underwear. We looked at each other, but everyone remained silent or ventured to speak.

We slowly took off our clothes. The prior evening, we had obtained explicit directions not to have any nourishment in the morning but to be as depleted as we could when we were to take the assessment. It was about registering the lowest mass as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to appear as a referee should according to the paradigm.

There we stood in a extended line, in just our underclothes. We were the continent's top officials, top sportsmen, role models, mature individuals, caregivers, strong personalities with strong ethics … but everyone remained mute. We hardly peered at each other, our gazes flickered a bit nervously while we were invited in pairs. There Collina scrutinized us from completely with an chilling gaze. Mute and attentive. We mounted the balance one by one. I pulled in my belly, adjusted my posture and held my breath as if it would have an effect. One of the instructors loudly announced: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I perceived how the boss stopped, looked at me and surveyed my partially unclothed body. I reflected that this is undignified. I'm an adult and compelled to be here and be inspected and critiqued.

I stepped off the weighing machine and it felt like I was in a daze. The identical trainer advanced with a kind of pliers, a device similar to a truth machine that he commenced pressing me with on different parts of the body. The pinching instrument, as the device was called, was cool and I flinched a little every time it pressed against me.

The instructor squeezed, tugged, pressed, quantified, reassessed, mumbled something inaudible, reapplied force and pinched my dermis and adipose tissue. After each measurement area, he announced the measurement in mm he could gauge.

I had no clue what the figures stood for, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It lasted approximately a minute. An aide entered the figures into a document, and when all four values had been calculated, the document rapidly computed my total fat percentage. My result was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, 18.7%."

Why did I not, or any other person, voice an opinion?

Why didn't we stand up and say what all were thinking: that it was demeaning. If I had spoken out I would have at the same time sealed my career's death sentence. If I had challenged or opposed the procedures that Collina had implemented then I would not have received any games, I'm sure about that.

Naturally, I also desired to become more athletic, reduce my mass and achieve my objective, to become a elite arbiter. It was clear you shouldn't be overweight, equally obvious you should be fit – and admittedly, maybe the entire referee corps demanded a standardization. But it was improper to try to get there through a embarrassing mass assessment and an plan where the primary focus was to lose weight and reduce your fat percentage.

Our twice-yearly trainings thereafter adhered to the same routine. Mass measurement, measurement of fat percentage, running tests, rule tests, reviews of interpretations, group work and then at the end a summary was provided. On a document, we all got facts about our physical profile – arrows indicating if we were going in the right direction (down) or improper course (up).

Body fat levels were classified into five tiers. An approved result was if you {belong