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I descended to the basement, cleaned the scales I had avoided for several years and looked at the display: 99.2kg. Throughout the previous eight years, I had shed nearly 10kg. I had transformed from being a referee who was bulky and out of shape to being lean and well trained. It had taken time, packed with patience, tough decisions and focus. But it was also the beginning of a shift that gradually meant stress, pressure and unease around the tests that the leadership had implemented.

You didn't just need to be a good referee, it was also about prioritising diet, looking like a elite referee, that the mass and adipose levels were correct, otherwise you risked being penalized, receiving less assignments and finding yourself in the sidelines.

When the refereeing organisation was overhauled during the mid-2010 period, the head official enacted a set of modifications. During the opening phase, there was an strong concentration on body shape, measurements of weight and body fat, and compulsory eyesight exams. Optical checks might appear as a expected practice, but it had not been before. At the courses they not only examined elementary factors like being able to decipher tiny letters at a certain distance, but also specialized examinations adapted for professional football referees.

Some officials were found to be colour blind. Another was revealed as blind in one eye and was forced to quit. At least that's what the gossip suggested, but no one knew for sure – because concerning the outcomes of the eyesight exam, nothing was revealed in extended assemblies. For me, the vision test was a comfort. It demonstrated expertise, attention to detail and a desire to improve.

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

The first time I was forced to endure the degrading process was in the late 2010 period at our regular session. We were in a European city. On the initial session, the umpires were divided into three units of about 15. When my unit had walked into the big, chilly conference room where we were to meet, the leadership directed us to undress to our intimate apparel. We looked at each other, but no one reacted or attempted to object.

We slowly took off our garments. The prior evening, we had been given explicit directions not to consume food or beverages in the morning but to be as depleted 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 appear as a official should according to the standard.

There we were positioned in a long row, in just our underclothes. We were the elite arbiters of European football, top sportsmen, role models, mature individuals, caregivers, strong personalities with high principles … but nobody spoke. We barely looked at each other, our eyes darted a bit apprehensively while we were invited in pairs. There Collina examined us from top to bottom with an ice-cold stare. Silent and attentive. We mounted the scale one by one. I sucked in my abdomen, straightened my back and ceased breathing as if it would make any difference. One of the instructors clearly stated: "The Swedish official, 96.2 kilograms." I perceived how the chief paused, looked at me and scanned my almost bare body. I thought to myself that this is not worthy. I'm an adult and obliged to be here and be examined and judged.

I alighted from the scale and it felt like I was in a daze. The same instructor approached with a kind of pliers, a polygraph-like tool that he commenced pressing me with on various areas of the body. The pinching instrument, as the tool was called, was cold and I jumped a little every time it pressed against me.

The trainer compressed, pulled, applied pressure, measured, rechecked, uttered indistinct words, squeezed once more and compressed my skin and body fat. After each measurement area, he declared the metric reading he could assess.

I had no clue what the values represented, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It took maybe just over a minute. An helper entered the values into a document, and when all readings had been determined, the document swiftly determined my overall body fat. My result was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

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

Why didn't we rise and express what each person felt: that it was demeaning. If I had raised my voice I would have concurrently executed my career's death sentence. If I had questioned or challenged the procedures that the boss had enforced then I would have been denied any matches, I'm convinced of that.

Of course, I also desired to become in better shape, be lighter and achieve my objective, to become a world-class referee. It was evident you shouldn't be overweight, equally obvious you ought to be in shape – and sure, maybe the whole officiating group demanded a standardization. But it was incorrect to try to achieve that through a degrading weight check and an agenda where the primary focus was to lose weight and reduce your adipose level.

Our two annual courses 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 file, we all got data about our fitness statistics – pointers showing if we were going in the proper course (down) or wrong direction (up).

Body fat levels were grouped into five groups. An satisfactory reading was if you {belong