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I descended to the cellar, cleaned the balance I had shunned for many years and observed the readout: 99.2kg. Throughout the previous eight years, I had shed nearly 10kg. I had evolved from being a official who was overweight and untrained to being light and fit. It had taken time, filled with determination, hard calls and commitments. But it was also the start of a shift that gradually meant anxiety, strain and unease around the tests that the top management had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a good umpire, it was also about focusing on nutrition, appearing as a top-level referee, that the mass and body fat were right, otherwise you were in danger of being reprimanded, getting fewer matches and ending up in the cold.

When the officiating body was overhauled during the mid-2010 period, Pierluigi Collina enacted a series of reforms. During the initial period, there was an intense emphasis on physique, weigh-ins and fat percentage, and required optical assessments. Eyesight examinations might appear as a standard practice, but it hadn't been before. At the training programs they not only tested fundamental aspects like being able to decipher tiny letters at a particular length, but also more specific tests adapted for professional football referees.

Some officials were identified as unable to distinguish certain hues. Another was revealed as blind in one eye and was forced to quit. At least that's what the gossip claimed, but everyone was unsure – because concerning the results of the optical assessment, no information was shared in larger groups. For me, the vision test was a comfort. It indicated professionalism, meticulousness and a desire to improve.

Concerning body mass examinations and body fat, however, I mostly felt disgust, irritation and degradation. It wasn't the tests that were the issue, but the manner of execution.

The opening instance I was compelled to undergo the degrading process was in the autumn of 2010 at our yearly training. We were in the Slovenian capital. On the first morning, the referees were divided into three teams of about 15. When my team had entered the large, cold conference room where we were to gather, the leadership urged us to strip down to our underclothes. We glanced around, but no one reacted or dared to say anything.

We gradually removed our attire. The evening before, we had received clear instructions not to consume food or beverages in the morning but to be as devoid as we could when we were to undergo the test. It was about showing minimal weight as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to resemble a umpire should according to the standard.

There we were positioned in a long row, in just our intimate apparel. We were Europe's best referees, professional competitors, role models, adults, parents, assertive characters with great integrity … but nobody spoke. We barely looked at each other, our gazes flickered a bit nervously while we were invited in pairs. There the boss scrutinized us from top to bottom with an chilling gaze. Silent and watchful. We stepped on the weighing machine one by one. I sucked in my belly, straightened my back and ceased breathing as if it would have an effect. One of the coaches loudly announced: "The Swedish official, 96.2 kilograms." I perceived how Collina paused, looked at me and scanned my partially unclothed body. I mused that this is not worthy. I'm an mature individual and obliged to stand here and be inspected and critiqued.

I alighted from the balance and it felt like I was disoriented. The equivalent coach came forward with a kind of pliers, a device similar to a truth machine that he commenced pressing me with on various areas of the body. The pinching instrument, as the tool was called, was chilly and I jumped a little every time it touched my body.

The instructor squeezed, pulled, forced, measured, measured again, mumbled something inaudible, pressed again and compressed my skin and body fat. After each measurement area, he announced the measurement in mm he could gauge.

I had no understanding what the values represented, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It required about a minute. An helper inputted the figures into a file, and when all measurements had been determined, the record swiftly determined my overall body fat. My reading was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, 18.7%."

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

What stopped us from rise and express what all were thinking: that it was humiliating. If I had raised my voice I would have concurrently executed my career's death sentence. If I had doubted or resisted the techniques that the chief had introduced then I wouldn't have got any games, I'm certain of that.

Naturally, I also desired to become in better shape, reduce my mass and reach my goal, to become a top-tier official. It was obvious you ought not to be overweight, just as clear you ought to be in shape – and sure, maybe the complete roster of officials needed a professional upgrade. But it was incorrect to try to reach that level through a embarrassing mass assessment and an agenda where the key objective was to lose weight and minimise your adipose level.

Our twice-yearly trainings after that followed the same pattern. Weight check, body fat assessment, running tests, laws of the game examinations, evaluation of rulings, collaborative exercises and then at the end all would be recapped. On a report, we all got facts about our body metrics – arrows showing if we were going in the correct path (down) or incorrect path (up).

Fat percentages were classified into five groups. An approved result was if you {belong