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I descended to the lower level, cleaned the weighing machine I had shunned for several years and glanced at the display: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had dropped nearly 10kg. I had transformed from being a official who was bulky and out of shape to being lean and conditioned. It had required effort, full of determination, hard calls and focus. But it was also the beginning of a change that gradually meant pressure, strain and discomfort around the examinations that the leadership had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a skilled referee, it was also about prioritising diet, presenting as a top-level official, that the weight and fat percentages were appropriate, otherwise you risked being penalized, receiving less assignments and finding yourself in the cold.

When the refereeing organisation was restructured during the mid-2010 period, the leading figure brought in a number of changes. During the opening phase, there was an strong concentration on physique, measurements of weight and adipose tissue, and mandatory vision tests. Vision tests might sound like a standard practice, but it wasn't previously before. At the courses they not only tested fundamental aspects like being able to decipher tiny letters at a certain distance, but also targeted assessments designed for top-level match arbiters.

Some referees were identified as unable to distinguish certain hues. Another turned out to be partially sighted and was obliged to retire. At least that's what the rumours claimed, but everyone was unsure – because regarding the results of the optical assessment, details were withheld in big gatherings. For me, the eyesight exam was a reassurance. It signalled expertise, attention to detail and a aim to get better.

Concerning tests of weight and body fat, however, I largely sensed aversion, irritation and embarrassment. It wasn't the examinations that were the problem, but the manner of execution.

The initial occasion I was forced to endure the degrading process was in the autumn of 2010 at our annual course. We were in a European city. On the opening day, the umpires were split into three groups of about 15. When my group had stepped into the spacious, cool assembly area where we were to assemble, the leadership directed us to strip down to our underwear. We exchanged glances, but everyone remained silent or ventured to speak.

We slowly took off our attire. The evening before, we had been given explicit directions not to consume food or beverages in the morning but to be as empty as we could when we were to participate in the examination. It was about registering the lowest mass as possible, and having as reduced adipose level as possible. And to look like a official should according to the standard.

There we remained in a extended line, in just our intimate apparel. We were the continent's top officials, elite athletes, exemplars, mature individuals, family providers, assertive characters with high principles … but everyone remained mute. We hardly peered at each other, our gazes flickered a bit nervously while we were summoned in pairs. There Collina observed us from top to bottom with an chilling look. Mute and attentive. We stepped onto the balance one by one. I pulled in my belly, adjusted my posture and stopped inhaling as if it would have an effect. One of the trainers clearly stated: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I sensed how the boss paused, observed me and scanned my nearly naked body. I thought to myself that this is not worthy. I'm an mature individual and compelled to be here and be inspected and judged.

I stepped off the scale and it seemed like I was disoriented. The same instructor came forward with a kind of pliers, a device similar to a truth machine that he began to pinch me with on assorted regions of the body. The measuring tool, as the instrument was called, was chilly and I started a little every time it pressed against me.

The trainer pressed, drew, pressed, measured, rechecked, uttered indistinct words, reapplied force and compressed my epidermis and fatty deposits. After each test site, he called out the number of millimetres he could measure.

I had no idea what the numbers stood for, if it was positive or negative. It required about a minute. An aide recorded the values into a document, and when all readings had been established, the record swiftly determined my total fat percentage. My result was proclaimed, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

Why did I not, or anyone else, speak up?

What stopped us from stand up and say what each person felt: that it was humiliating. If I had voiced my concerns I would have concurrently executed my end of my officiating path. If I had questioned or challenged the procedures that the boss had introduced then I wouldn't have got any fixtures, I'm certain of that.

Naturally, I also desired to become fitter, weigh less and reach my goal, to become a elite arbiter. It was evident you shouldn't be above the ideal weight, equally obvious you ought to be fit – and admittedly, maybe the entire referee corps needed a professional upgrade. But it was incorrect to try to reach that level through a humiliating weigh-in and an strategy where the key objective was to shed pounds and lower your fat percentage.

Our two annual courses subsequently maintained the same structure. Weight check, measurement of fat percentage, fitness exams, regulation quizzes, evaluation of rulings, group work and then at the end all would be recapped. On a report, we all got information about our fitness statistics – indicators pointing if we were going in the proper course (down) or wrong direction (up).

Adipose measurements were categorised into five tiers. An acceptable outcome was if you {belong