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I descended to the basement, cleaned the weighing machine I had avoided for several years and looked at the readout: 99.2kg. Throughout the previous eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a official who was bulky and untrained to being slender and fit. It had taken time, full of patience, tough decisions and priorities. But it was also the start of a shift that gradually meant stress, tension and unease around the assessments that the leadership had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a skilled referee, it was also about prioritising diet, appearing as a top-level umpire, that the body mass and fat percentages were appropriate, otherwise you risked being penalized, getting fewer matches and landing in the sidelines.

When the regulatory group was overhauled during the mid-2010 period, the head official enacted a number of changes. During the opening phase, there was an extreme focus on physical condition, measurements of weight and body fat, and compulsory eyesight exams. Vision tests might seem like a expected practice, but it hadn't been before. At the courses they not only examined fundamental aspects like being able to decipher tiny letters at a certain distance, but also more specific tests adapted for professional football referees.

Some referees were found to be unable to distinguish certain hues. Another turned out to be lacking vision in one eye and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the whispers said, but everyone was unsure – because about the outcomes of the vision test, details were withheld in larger groups. For me, the optical check was a confidence boost. It indicated expertise, attention to detail and a goal to enhance.

Concerning weighing assessments and adipose measurement, however, I primarily experienced aversion, frustration and humiliation. It wasn't the assessments that were the issue, but the method of implementation.

The initial occasion I was compelled to undergo the humiliating procedure was in the autumn of 2010 at our regular session. We were in a European city. On the first morning, the referees were split into three teams of about 15. When my unit had walked into the spacious, cool assembly area where we were to assemble, the management urged us to strip down to our underclothes. We looked at each other, but nobody responded or dared to say anything.

We carefully shed our garments. The previous night, we had obtained explicit directions not to consume food or beverages in the morning but to be as devoid as we could when we were to participate in the examination. It was about showing minimal weight as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to resemble a referee should according to the standard.

There we were positioned in a extended line, in just our underwear. We were Europe's best referees, top sportsmen, exemplars, mature individuals, caregivers, strong personalities with strong ethics … but no one said anything. We scarcely glanced at each other, our looks shifted a bit apprehensively while we were invited two by two. There the chief examined us from completely with an ice-cold stare. Mute and watchful. We stepped onto the scale singly. I sucked in my abdomen, straightened my back and held my breath as if it would make any difference. One of the coaches clearly stated: "The Swedish official, 96.2 kilograms." I sensed how the chief paused, looked at me and scanned my almost bare body. I mused that this is not worthy. I'm an grown person and obliged to stand here and be inspected and judged.

I stepped off the scale and it felt like I was in a daze. The identical trainer approached with a type of caliper, a polygraph-like tool that he began to pinch me with on assorted regions of the body. The caliper, as the device was called, was cold and I started a little every time it pressed against me.

The trainer pressed, drew, applied pressure, measured, measured again, mumbled something inaudible, pressed again and squeezed my skin and body fat. After each measurement area, he declared the number of millimetres he could assess.

I had no understanding what the figures represented, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It lasted approximately a minute. An helper inputted the values into a record, and when all readings had been established, the record rapidly computed my overall body fat. My value was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

Why didn't I, or anyone else, voice an opinion?

What stopped us from stand up and say what each person felt: that it was degrading. If I had raised my voice I would have concurrently executed my end of my officiating path. If I had questioned or challenged the procedures that Collina had enforced then I wouldn't have got any matches, I'm certain of that.

Certainly, I also desired to become more athletic, reduce my mass and attain my target, to become a world-class referee. It was clear you ought not to be overweight, just as clear you must be fit – and admittedly, maybe the entire referee corps required a standardization. But it was wrong to try to reach that level through a degrading weight check and an plan where the key objective was to reduce mass and lower your adipose level.

Our biannual sessions thereafter maintained the same structure. Weight check, measurement of fat percentage, running tests, regulation quizzes, reviews of interpretations, group work and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a document, we all got information about our fitness statistics – pointers indicating if we were going in the proper course (down) or incorrect path (up).

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