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I went to the cellar, cleaned the balance I had evaded for several years and glanced at the readout: 99.2kg. Throughout the previous eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a umpire who was heavy and out of shape to being lean and fit. It had required effort, full of determination, difficult choices and priorities. But it was also the start of a transformation that progressively brought stress, tension and unease around the assessments that the top management had introduced.

You didn't just need to be a good umpire, it was also about focusing on nutrition, presenting as a elite official, that the mass and adipose levels were correct, otherwise you risked being reprimanded, being allocated fewer games and landing in the cold.

When the refereeing organisation was restructured during the mid-2010 period, Pierluigi Collina brought in a set of modifications. During the initial period, there was an strong concentration on physique, body mass assessments and adipose tissue, and required optical assessments. Optical checks might appear as a expected practice, but it had not been before. At the sessions they not only examined basic things like being able to see fine print at a certain distance, but also targeted assessments adapted for elite soccer officials.

Some umpires were discovered as color deficient. Another turned out to be lacking vision in one eye and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the gossip claimed, but nobody was certain – because about the findings of the eyesight exam, details were withheld in larger groups. For me, the vision test was a confidence boost. It signalled competence, thoroughness and a aim to enhance.

When it came to body mass examinations and adipose measurement, however, I largely sensed aversion, irritation and degradation. It wasn't the assessments that were the difficulty, but the manner of execution.

The first time I was compelled to undergo the degrading process was in the fall of 2010 at our yearly training. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the first morning, the referees were split into three units of about 15. When my group had entered the big, chilly meeting hall where we were to meet, the leadership instructed us to undress to our underwear. We looked at each other, but no one reacted or ventured to speak.

We carefully shed our garments. The evening before, we had obtained clear instructions not to have any nourishment in the morning but to be as devoid as we could when we were to participate in the examination. It was about weighing as little as possible, and having as reduced adipose level as possible. And to resemble a umpire should according to the model.

There we stood in a extended line, in just our underwear. We were Europe's best referees, professional competitors, role models, mature individuals, family providers, assertive characters with high principles … but everyone remained mute. We scarcely glanced at each other, our looks shifted a bit anxiously while we were called forward as duos. There Collina observed us from top to bottom with an ice-cold stare. Silent and attentive. We stepped on the balance individually. I pulled in my abdomen, straightened my back and ceased breathing as if it would have an effect. One of the instructors audibly declared: "Eriksson from Sweden, 96.2kg." I felt how the boss stopped, looked at me and scanned my almost bare body. I mused that this is undignified. I'm an mature individual and compelled to remain here and be evaluated and critiqued.

I stepped off the weighing machine and it appeared as if I was disoriented. The same instructor 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 tool was called, was chilly and I jumped a little every time it pressed against me.

The trainer squeezed, pulled, pressed, measured, reassessed, uttered indistinct words, reapplied force and compressed my epidermis and body fat. After each test site, he declared the measurement in mm he could gauge.

I had no understanding what the numbers stood for, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It took maybe just over a minute. An aide inputted the figures into a document, and when all four values had been determined, the file rapidly computed my complete adipose level. My reading was declared, for all to hear: "The official, 18.7 percent."

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

What stopped us from rise and express what all were thinking: that it was demeaning. If I had spoken out I would have concurrently sealed my career's death sentence. If I had questioned or resisted the methods that Collina had introduced then I would not have received any fixtures, I'm certain of that.

Naturally, I also wanted to become fitter, reduce my mass and reach my goal, to become a top-tier official. It was clear you must not be above the ideal weight, similarly apparent you should be conditioned – and sure, maybe the whole officiating group demanded a standardization. But it was incorrect to try to reach that level through a degrading weight check and an strategy where the most important thing was to shed pounds and minimise your fat percentage.

Our two annual courses subsequently adhered to the same routine. Mass measurement, body fat assessment, fitness exams, laws of the game examinations, evaluation of rulings, group work and then at the end a summary was provided. On a document, we all got data about our physical profile – indicators pointing if we were going in the right direction (down) or improper course (up).

Body fat levels were grouped into five categories. An acceptable outcome was if you {belong