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I descended to the lower level, dusted off the weighing machine I had evaded for many years and looked at the readout: 99.2kg. Throughout the previous eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a referee who was heavy and untrained to being slender and conditioned. It had taken time, full of patience, difficult choices and focus. But it was also the start of a transformation that progressively brought pressure, pressure and discomfort around the assessments that the authorities had implemented.

You didn't just need to be a skilled referee, it was also about focusing on nutrition, appearing as a elite umpire, that the body mass and fat percentages were correct, otherwise you were in danger of being penalized, being allocated fewer games and landing in the cold.

When the regulatory group was overhauled during the summer of 2010, the head official enacted a number of changes. During the first year, there was an extreme focus on body shape, weigh-ins and body fat, and required optical assessments. Optical checks might appear as a given practice, but it hadn't been before. At the sessions they not only examined fundamental aspects like being able to see fine print at a particular length, but also specialized examinations tailored to professional football referees.

Some officials were identified as color deficient. Another proved to be lacking vision in one eye and was obliged to retire. At least that's what the gossip said, but nobody was certain – because about the findings of the eyesight exam, nothing was revealed in extended assemblies. For me, the vision test was a reassurance. It signalled competence, attention to detail and a desire to enhance.

Regarding weighing assessments and adipose measurement, however, I mostly felt aversion, anger and embarrassment. It wasn't the examinations that were the difficulty, but the way they were conducted.

The initial occasion I was forced to endure the degrading process was in the fall of 2010 at our yearly training. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the initial session, the umpires were split into three teams of about 15. When my team had walked into the spacious, cool assembly area where we were to assemble, the leadership instructed us to strip down to our underwear. We glanced around, but everyone remained silent or dared to say anything.

We gradually removed our garments. The evening before, we had obtained clear instructions not to eat or drink in the morning but to be as empty as we could when we were to undergo the test. It was about registering the lowest mass as possible, and having as reduced adipose level as possible. And to appear as a official should according to the standard.

There we stood in a extended line, in just our underwear. We were the elite arbiters of European football, top sportsmen, role models, mature individuals, family providers, strong personalities with great integrity … but nobody spoke. We barely looked at each other, our gazes flickered a bit apprehensively while we were called forward two by two. There Collina examined us from completely with an frigid look. Mute and attentive. We stepped on the scale one by one. I sucked in my stomach, adjusted my posture and held my breath as if it would change the outcome. One of the instructors loudly announced: "Eriksson from Sweden, 96.2kg." I felt how the chief paused, looked at me and surveyed my almost bare body. I mused that this is not worthy. I'm an grown person and forced to remain here and be evaluated and critiqued.

I descended from the balance and it felt like I was in a daze. The identical trainer approached with a kind of pliers, a polygraph-like tool that he started to squeeze me with on different parts of the body. The caliper, as the instrument was called, was cold and I flinched a little every time it pressed against me.

The trainer pressed, tugged, pressed, quantified, measured again, uttered indistinct words, squeezed once more and pinched my epidermis and fatty deposits. After each test site, he announced the metric reading he could measure.

I had no idea what the values signified, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It required about a minute. An helper inputted the numbers into a document, and when all readings had been determined, the record swiftly determined my total fat percentage. My reading was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, 18.7%."

Why didn't I, or somebody else, say anything?

Why couldn't we rise and express what each person felt: that it was degrading. If I had raised my voice I would have concurrently sealed my professional demise. If I had doubted or resisted the procedures that Collina had implemented then I would not have received any games, I'm certain of that.

Of course, I also aimed to become more athletic, be lighter and achieve my objective, to become a elite arbiter. It was obvious you must not be above the ideal weight, similarly apparent you should be fit – and admittedly, maybe the whole officiating group demanded a professional upgrade. But it was incorrect to try to achieve that through a degrading weight check and an agenda where the most important thing was to shed pounds and reduce your fat percentage.

Our two annual courses subsequently maintained the same structure. Weight check, adipose evaluation, running tests, rule tests, evaluation of rulings, collaborative exercises and then at the end all would be recapped. On a file, we all got information about our physical profile – pointers indicating if we were going in the correct path (down) or wrong direction (up).

Fat percentages were grouped into five tiers. An satisfactory reading was if you {belong