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I ventured to the cellar, wiped the scales I had avoided for several years and looked at the screen: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had dropped nearly 10kg. I had evolved from being a umpire who was heavy and out of shape to being light and conditioned. It had demanded dedication, filled with patience, hard calls and priorities. But it was also the beginning of a shift that progressively brought pressure, strain and unease around the assessments that the leadership had implemented.

You didn't just need to be a competent umpire, it was also about prioritising diet, looking like a elite umpire, that the weight and body fat were appropriate, otherwise you risked being penalized, receiving less assignments and landing in the wilderness.

When the regulatory group was replaced during the summer of 2010, Pierluigi Collina brought in a series of reforms. During the initial period, there was an strong concentration on physical condition, body mass assessments and fat percentage, and compulsory eyesight exams. Optical checks might sound like a expected practice, but it wasn't previously before. At the training programs they not only evaluated fundamental aspects like being able to see fine print at a particular length, but also specialized examinations tailored to professional football referees.

Some umpires were discovered as colour blind. Another proved to be partially sighted and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the whispers claimed, but no one knew for sure – because concerning the findings of the optical assessment, nothing was revealed in big gatherings. For me, the vision test was a reassurance. It signalled competence, attention to detail and a desire to enhance.

Regarding tests of weight and fat percentage, however, I primarily experienced revulsion, irritation and embarrassment. It wasn't the tests that were the problem, but the manner of execution.

The opening instance I was forced to endure the embarrassing ritual was in the autumn of 2010 at our regular session. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the initial session, the referees were divided into three units of about 15. When my unit had entered the big, chilly meeting hall where we were to assemble, the management urged us to remove our clothes to our underclothes. We exchanged glances, but no one reacted or attempted to object.

We carefully shed our garments. The evening before, we had obtained specific orders not to have any nourishment in the morning but to be as devoid as we could when we were to undergo the test. It was about registering the lowest mass as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to resemble a referee should according to the paradigm.

There we stood in a extended line, in just our underclothes. We were Europe's best referees, elite athletes, role models, grown-ups, parents, confident individuals with strong ethics … but no one said anything. We hardly peered at each other, our looks shifted a bit apprehensively while we were invited as duos. There Collina scrutinized us from head to toe with an ice-cold stare. Mute and watchful. We mounted the weighing machine individually. I pulled in my belly, straightened my back and held my breath as if it would change the outcome. One of the instructors loudly announced: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I sensed how Collina stopped, observed me and scanned my nearly naked body. I reflected that this is undignified. I'm an adult and forced to be here and be examined and judged.

I alighted from the balance and it appeared as if I was in a daze. The equivalent coach came forward with a type of caliper, a device similar to a truth machine that he began to pinch me with on various areas of the body. The pinching instrument, as the device was called, was cold and I jumped a little every time it made contact.

The coach pressed, tugged, pressed, measured, rechecked, spoke unclearly, pressed again and squeezed my dermis and body fat. After each test site, he announced the measurement in mm he could gauge.

I had no understanding what the values stood for, if it was good or bad. It lasted approximately a minute. An aide inputted the figures into a record, and when all measurements had been determined, the record quickly calculated my total fat percentage. My result was proclaimed, for all to hear: "The official, 18.7 percent."

What prevented me from, or anyone else, voice an opinion?

What stopped us from get to our feet and state what everyone thought: that it was degrading. If I had raised my voice I would have concurrently executed my professional demise. If I had doubted or challenged the techniques that Collina had implemented then I would have been denied any games, I'm certain of that.

Of course, I also desired to become more athletic, weigh less and attain my target, to become a world-class referee. It was evident you must not be overweight, similarly apparent you ought to be fit – and admittedly, maybe the complete roster of officials required a professionalisation. But it was improper to try to achieve that through a degrading weight check and an agenda where the primary focus was to shed pounds and reduce your fat percentage.

Our twice-yearly trainings after that adhered to the same routine. Weigh-in, measurement of fat percentage, running tests, laws of the game examinations, evaluation of rulings, team activities and then at the end a summary was provided. On a file, we all got data about our fitness statistics – pointers pointing if we were going in the correct path (down) or incorrect path (up).

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