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I descended to the lower level, wiped the balance I had shunned for several years and glanced at the readout: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had dropped nearly 10kg. I had transformed from being a umpire who was bulky and untrained to being light and well trained. It had taken time, filled with persistence, hard calls and commitments. But it was also the start of a change that slowly introduced pressure, pressure and discomfort around the examinations that the top management had introduced.

You didn't just need to be a skilled official, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, appearing as a elite umpire, that the mass and adipose levels were appropriate, otherwise you faced being penalized, being allocated fewer games and landing in the sidelines.

When the regulatory group was overhauled during the summer of 2010, Pierluigi Collina introduced a number of changes. During the initial period, there was an intense emphasis on physique, measurements of weight and fat percentage, and mandatory vision tests. Optical checks might seem like a expected practice, but it wasn't previously before. At the sessions they not only evaluated basic things like being able to see fine print at a certain distance, but also specialized examinations adapted for elite soccer officials.

Some officials were discovered 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 suggested, but everyone was unsure – because regarding the outcomes of the vision test, nothing was revealed in extended assemblies. For me, the eyesight exam was a comfort. It demonstrated expertise, attention to detail and a desire to enhance.

When it came to weighing assessments and fat percentage, however, I largely sensed disgust, frustration and humiliation. It wasn't the tests that were the difficulty, but the manner of execution.

The initial occasion I was obliged to experience the humiliating procedure was in the late 2010 period at our annual course. We were in a European city. On the first morning, the referees were separated into three teams of about 15. When my team had walked into the big, chilly meeting hall where we were to assemble, the supervisors directed us to remove our clothes to our underclothes. We looked at each other, but everyone remained silent or ventured to speak.

We slowly took off our attire. The prior evening, we had obtained clear instructions 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 registering the lowest mass as possible, and having as minimal body fat as possible. And to look like a official should according to the standard.

There we were positioned in a long row, in just our underwear. We were Europe's best referees, elite athletes, exemplars, mature individuals, parents, assertive characters with high principles … but no one said anything. We scarcely glanced at each other, our eyes darted a bit anxiously while we were summoned two by two. There the chief observed us from head to toe with an frigid gaze. Quiet and observant. We stepped onto the weighing machine singly. I sucked in my stomach, straightened my back and held my breath as if it would change the outcome. One of the coaches audibly declared: "Eriksson from Sweden, 96.2kg." I felt how the boss hesitated, looked at me and surveyed my almost bare body. I mused that this is not worthy. I'm an grown person and obliged to be here and be evaluated and judged.

I alighted from the balance and it appeared as if I was in a daze. The identical trainer approached with a sort of clamp, a device similar to a truth machine that he commenced pressing me with on assorted regions of the body. The caliper, as the tool was called, was cool and I jumped a little every time it touched my body.

The coach pressed, drew, pressed, gauged, measured again, spoke unclearly, pressed again and pinched my skin and adipose tissue. After each assessment point, he announced the measurement in mm he could measure.

I had no understanding what the numbers stood for, if it was positive or negative. It required about a minute. An helper recorded the numbers into a file, and when all readings had been determined, the document rapidly computed my overall body fat. My reading was declared, for all to hear: "The official, 18.7 percent."

What prevented me from, or somebody else, speak up?

Why couldn't we get to our feet and say what all were thinking: that it was humiliating. If I had spoken out I would have at the same time signed my end of my officiating path. If I had doubted or challenged the procedures that the chief had enforced then I wouldn't have got any games, I'm sure about that.

Of course, I also wanted to become fitter, be lighter and achieve my objective, to become a top-tier official. It was clear you must not be above the ideal weight, similarly apparent you ought to be conditioned – and admittedly, maybe the whole officiating group demanded a professional upgrade. But it was incorrect to try to achieve that through a embarrassing mass assessment and an strategy where the primary focus was to shed pounds and lower your fat percentage.

Our biannual sessions thereafter adhered to the same routine. Weigh-in, body fat assessment, fitness exams, rule tests, analysis of decisions, group work and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a document, we all got facts about our physical profile – arrows indicating if we were going in the correct path (down) or wrong direction (up).

Fat percentages were classified into five categories. An acceptable outcome was if you {belong