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I descended to the lower level, wiped the scales I had evaded for several years and glanced at the readout: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had shed nearly 10kg. I had transformed from being a referee who was bulky and untrained to being light and conditioned. It had demanded dedication, filled with persistence, tough decisions and focus. But it was also the beginning of a shift that gradually meant stress, strain and discomfort around the assessments that the leadership had introduced.

You didn't just need to be a competent official, it was also about prioritising diet, appearing as a top-level umpire, that the weight and adipose levels were correct, otherwise you were in danger of being penalized, getting fewer matches and ending up in the cold.

When the refereeing organisation was replaced during the summer of 2010, the leading figure enacted a set of modifications. During the initial period, there was an strong concentration on body shape, measurements of weight and fat percentage, and required optical assessments. Vision tests might appear as a expected practice, but it had not been before. At the sessions they not only tested basic things like being able to decipher tiny letters at a particular length, but also more specific tests tailored to elite soccer officials.

Some officials were identified as unable to distinguish certain hues. Another turned out to be partially sighted and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the whispers claimed, but everyone was unsure – because about the results of the optical assessment, details were withheld in big gatherings. For me, the eyesight exam was a comfort. It demonstrated expertise, meticulousness and a goal to get better.

Concerning body mass examinations and adipose measurement, however, I mostly felt revulsion, frustration and humiliation. It wasn't the examinations that were the problem, but the way they were conducted.

The first time I was obliged to experience the humiliating procedure was in the late 2010 period at our regular session. We were in a European city. On the initial session, the referees were divided into three teams of about 15. When my group had walked into the spacious, cool assembly area where we were to gather, the supervisors instructed us to undress to our underclothes. We glanced around, but no one reacted or dared to say anything.

We slowly took off our garments. The previous night, we had obtained specific orders not to eat or drink 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 look like a umpire should according to the standard.

There we stood in a lengthy queue, in just our intimate apparel. We were the elite arbiters of European football, elite athletes, exemplars, adults, family providers, assertive characters with high principles … but no one said anything. We scarcely glanced at each other, our gazes flickered a bit nervously while we were called forward two by two. There Collina observed us from completely with an chilling stare. Silent and attentive. We mounted the weighing machine singly. I sucked in my stomach, adjusted my posture and stopped inhaling as if it would have an effect. One of the coaches audibly declared: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I felt how Collina hesitated, looked at me and inspected my almost bare body. I mused that this is not worthy. I'm an adult and compelled to stand here and be inspected and critiqued.

I descended from the scale and it felt like I was in a daze. The identical trainer advanced with a sort of clamp, a polygraph-like tool that he began to pinch me with on various areas of the body. The caliper, as the device was called, was cool and I started a little every time it made contact.

The trainer pressed, tugged, forced, quantified, reassessed, mumbled something inaudible, pressed again and compressed my skin and fatty deposits. After each assessment point, he announced the metric reading he could assess.

I had no clue what the figures represented, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It took maybe just over a minute. An assistant entered the figures into a document, and when all measurements had been determined, the file rapidly computed my overall body fat. My reading was proclaimed, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

Why did I not, or anyone else, say anything?

What stopped us from get to our feet and state what everyone thought: that it was degrading. If I had spoken out I would have at the same time signed my end of my officiating path. If I had doubted or challenged the procedures that Collina had introduced then I would have been denied any fixtures, I'm sure about that.

Naturally, I also desired to become more athletic, reduce my mass and reach my goal, to become a world-class referee. It was clear you shouldn't be overweight, just as clear you should be fit – and admittedly, maybe the whole officiating group needed a standardization. But it was wrong to try to get there through a humiliating weigh-in and an agenda where the most important thing was to lose weight and reduce your body fat.

Our two annual courses thereafter maintained the same structure. Mass measurement, adipose evaluation, endurance assessments, laws of the game examinations, evaluation of rulings, collaborative exercises and then at the end a summary was provided. On a report, we all got data about our physical profile – indicators pointing if we were going in the proper course (down) or improper course (up).

Adipose measurements were grouped into five categories. An acceptable outcome was if you {belong