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I descended to the basement, cleaned the balance I had shunned for many years and observed the screen: 99.2kg. Over the past eight years, I had dropped nearly 10kg. I had transformed from being a umpire who was heavy and untrained to being lean and well trained. It had demanded dedication, full of patience, hard calls and commitments. But it was also the beginning of a transformation that gradually meant pressure, strain and disquiet around the examinations that the leadership had implemented.

You didn't just need to be a competent official, it was also about prioritising diet, looking like a premier umpire, that the mass and adipose levels were appropriate, otherwise you faced being penalized, receiving less assignments and finding yourself in the cold.

When the officiating body was restructured during the summer of 2010, Pierluigi Collina brought in a set of modifications. During the initial period, there was an strong concentration on physique, body mass assessments and fat percentage, and mandatory vision tests. Eyesight examinations might seem like a given practice, but it had not been before. At the sessions they not only tested basic things like being able to see fine print at a certain distance, but also targeted assessments designed for top-level match arbiters.

Some officials were found to be color deficient. Another turned out to be partially sighted and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the whispers suggested, but everyone was unsure – because regarding the results of the eyesight exam, no information was shared in extended assemblies. For me, the vision test was a comfort. It demonstrated expertise, meticulousness and a aim to improve.

When it came to weighing assessments and body fat, however, I primarily experienced disgust, frustration and embarrassment. It wasn't the examinations that were the issue, but the method of implementation.

The opening instance I was compelled to undergo the humiliating procedure was in the fall of 2010 at our yearly training. We were in the Slovenian capital. On the first morning, the referees were separated into three groups of about 15. When my group had entered the large, cold meeting hall where we were to meet, the leadership urged us to strip down to our underclothes. We glanced around, but nobody responded or ventured to speak.

We gradually removed our garments. The previous night, we had received specific orders not to consume food or beverages in the morning but to be as depleted as we could when we were to take the assessment. It was about weighing as little as possible, and having as reduced adipose level as possible. And to resemble a official should according to the paradigm.

There we remained in a lengthy queue, in just our underwear. We were Europe's best referees, elite athletes, role models, adults, parents, assertive characters with great integrity … but nobody spoke. We scarcely glanced at each other, our eyes darted a bit apprehensively while we were invited as duos. There Collina scrutinized us from head to toe with an frigid look. Mute and attentive. We stepped on the balance individually. I pulled in my stomach, stood erect and ceased breathing as if it would have an effect. One of the instructors clearly stated: "The Swedish official, 96.2 kilograms." I felt how the chief stopped, observed me and surveyed my partially unclothed body. I mused that this is not worthy. I'm an grown person and forced to remain here and be evaluated and judged.

I alighted from the scale and it seemed like I was disoriented. The same instructor came forward with a kind of pliers, a polygraph-like tool that he commenced pressing me with on various areas of the body. The caliper, as the tool was called, was chilly and I jumped a little every time it made contact.

The instructor compressed, drew, forced, measured, measured again, uttered indistinct words, reapplied force and compressed my skin and adipose tissue. After each assessment point, he declared the number of millimetres he could assess.

I had no idea what the values represented, if it was good or bad. It lasted approximately a minute. An helper inputted the numbers into a record, and when all measurements had been established, the document rapidly computed my overall body fat. My reading was declared, for all to hear: "Eriksson, 18.7%."

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

Why didn't we stand up and state what everyone thought: that it was humiliating. If I had spoken out I would have concurrently signed my professional demise. If I had questioned or resisted the procedures that Collina had enforced then I would not have received any fixtures, I'm sure about that.

Of course, I also aimed to become in better shape, weigh less and achieve my objective, to become a elite arbiter. It was clear you ought not to be above the ideal weight, equally obvious you must be fit – and certainly, maybe the whole officiating group required a standardization. But it was incorrect to try to get there through a embarrassing mass assessment and an agenda where the most important thing was to shed pounds and lower your body fat.

Our biannual sessions thereafter followed the same pattern. Weigh-in, body fat assessment, running tests, rule tests, analysis of decisions, team activities and then at the end a summary was provided. On a file, we all got facts about our physical profile – pointers indicating if we were going in the right direction (down) or improper course (up).

Fat percentages were categorised into five categories. An approved result was if you {belong