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I ventured to the basement, wiped the balance I had shunned for a long time and looked at the readout: 99.2kg. Throughout the previous eight years, I had shed nearly 10kg. I had evolved from being a umpire who was heavy and untrained to being lean and fit. It had taken time, filled with patience, difficult choices and priorities. But it was also the beginning of a transformation that slowly introduced anxiety, tension and discomfort around the assessments that the top management had implemented.

You didn't just need to be a competent referee, it was also about focusing on nutrition, looking like a top-level official, that the body mass and adipose levels were correct, otherwise you were in danger of being penalized, receiving less assignments and ending up in the cold.

When the refereeing organisation was replaced during the mid-2010 period, Pierluigi Collina brought in a set of modifications. During the first year, there was an strong concentration on body shape, weigh-ins and adipose tissue, and mandatory vision tests. Optical checks might sound like a standard practice, but it hadn't 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 tailored to top-level match arbiters.

Some officials were found to be colour blind. Another turned out to be partially sighted and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the gossip suggested, but nobody was certain – because about the findings of the eyesight exam, no information was shared in larger groups. For me, the eyesight exam was a comfort. It demonstrated expertise, thoroughness and a goal to get better.

Concerning weighing assessments and fat percentage, however, I largely sensed disgust, irritation and embarrassment. It wasn't the assessments that were the problem, but the way they were conducted.

The opening instance I was compelled to undergo the embarrassing ritual was in the fall of 2010 at our regular session. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the initial session, the referees were separated into three groups of about 15. When my unit had stepped into the spacious, cool meeting hall where we were to assemble, the management urged us to strip down to our underwear. We exchanged glances, but everyone remained silent or attempted to object.

We carefully shed our attire. The prior evening, we had been given explicit directions not to have any nourishment in the morning but to be as depleted as we could when we were to participate in the examination. It was about showing minimal weight as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to look like a official should according to the paradigm.

There we were positioned in a extended line, in just our underwear. We were the continent's top officials, professional competitors, inspirations, grown-ups, caregivers, strong personalities with high principles … but nobody spoke. We scarcely glanced at each other, our gazes flickered a bit anxiously while we were invited two by two. There Collina scrutinized us from completely with an ice-cold look. Silent and attentive. We stepped on the balance individually. I contracted my belly, stood erect and held my breath as if it would make any difference. One of the instructors audibly declared: "The Swedish official, 96.2 kilograms." I perceived how Collina paused, observed me and surveyed my partially unclothed body. I thought to myself that this is not worthy. I'm an mature individual and forced to stand here and be inspected and assessed.

I descended from the weighing machine and it felt like I was disoriented. The identical trainer approached with a kind of pliers, a polygraph-like tool that he began to pinch me with on assorted regions of the body. The caliper, as the tool was called, was cold and I jumped a little every time it made contact.

The instructor compressed, drew, applied pressure, gauged, rechecked, spoke unclearly, pressed again and compressed my skin and adipose tissue. After each test site, he called out the number of millimetres he could gauge.

I had no understanding what the values signified, if it was good or bad. It lasted approximately a minute. An helper recorded the numbers into a file, and when all four values had been established, the document rapidly computed my complete adipose level. My value was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

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

What stopped us from rise and say what all were thinking: that it was degrading. If I had voiced my concerns I would have at the same time signed my end of my officiating path. If I had challenged or challenged the procedures that the chief had implemented then I would have been denied any fixtures, I'm sure about that.

Naturally, I also desired to become in better shape, be lighter and reach my goal, to become a world-class referee. It was clear you shouldn't be heavy, just as clear you should be fit – and certainly, maybe the whole officiating group needed a standardization. But it was improper to try to achieve that through a degrading weight check and an strategy where the most important thing was to reduce mass and lower your body fat.

Our twice-yearly trainings after that maintained the same structure. Weight check, adipose evaluation, fitness exams, 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 information about our body metrics – arrows showing if we were going in the proper course (down) or incorrect path (up).

Fat percentages were categorised into five groups. An acceptable outcome was if you {belong