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I ventured to the cellar, wiped the balance I had shunned for many years and observed the display: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a official who was overweight and out of shape to being light and fit. It had taken time, filled with determination, tough decisions and priorities. But it was also the start of a change that gradually meant pressure, strain and disquiet around the tests that the top management had implemented.

You didn't just need to be a good umpire, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, appearing as a elite umpire, that the mass and body fat were right, otherwise you faced being reprimanded, getting fewer matches and ending up in the sidelines.

When the refereeing organisation was replaced during the mid-2010 period, the leading figure enacted a number of changes. During the opening phase, there was an extreme focus on physical condition, body mass assessments and body fat, and mandatory vision tests. Eyesight examinations might appear as a standard practice, but it wasn't previously before. At the courses they not only tested fundamental aspects like being able to see fine print at a particular length, but also more specific tests designed for elite soccer officials.

Some umpires were found to be unable to distinguish certain hues. Another proved to be lacking vision in one eye and was forced to quit. At least that's what the rumours claimed, but no one knew for sure – because regarding the outcomes of the vision test, details were withheld in larger groups. For me, the optical check was a comfort. It signalled competence, meticulousness and a goal to enhance.

When it came to body mass examinations and fat percentage, however, I largely sensed revulsion, anger and embarrassment. It wasn't the examinations that were the difficulty, but the way they were conducted.

The initial occasion I was compelled to undergo the degrading process was in the late 2010 period at our yearly training. We were in the Slovenian capital. On the first morning, the umpires were split into three groups of about 15. When my unit had entered the spacious, cool assembly area where we were to assemble, the leadership instructed us to strip down to our intimate apparel. We exchanged glances, but no one reacted or dared to say anything.

We carefully shed our clothes. The previous night, we had received explicit directions not to consume food or beverages in the morning but to be as depleted as we could when we were to undergo the test. It was about weighing as little as possible, and having as minimal body fat as possible. And to resemble a umpire should according to the model.

There we were positioned in a long row, in just our underclothes. We were the elite arbiters of European football, elite athletes, exemplars, adults, caregivers, strong personalities with high principles … but nobody spoke. We scarcely glanced at each other, our eyes darted a bit nervously while we were invited two by two. There the boss examined us from top to bottom with an ice-cold gaze. Quiet and observant. We mounted the weighing machine individually. I sucked in my belly, stood erect and held my breath as if it would make any difference. One of the instructors loudly announced: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I sensed how Collina paused, looked at me and scanned my nearly naked body. I thought to myself that this is not worthy. I'm an mature individual and obliged to remain here and be inspected and critiqued.

I alighted from the weighing machine and it seemed like I was standing in a fog. The equivalent coach approached with a kind of pliers, a instrument resembling a lie detector that he started to squeeze me with on assorted regions of the body. The pinching instrument, as the tool was called, was chilly and I started a little every time it pressed against me.

The instructor pressed, drew, applied pressure, measured, measured again, spoke unclearly, reapplied force and pinched my skin and body fat. After each test site, he announced the metric reading he could measure.

I had no understanding what the numbers signified, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It required about a minute. An assistant entered the figures into a file, and when all measurements had been established, the record quickly calculated my total fat percentage. My value was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, 18.7%."

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

Why couldn't we rise and express what everyone thought: that it was humiliating. If I had voiced my concerns I would have simultaneously sealed my career's death sentence. If I had questioned or challenged the methods that the chief had introduced then I wouldn't have got any games, I'm convinced of that.

Naturally, I also aimed to become more athletic, be lighter and achieve my objective, to become a top-tier official. It was obvious you must not be above the ideal weight, equally obvious you ought to be fit – and certainly, maybe the complete roster of officials demanded a standardization. But it was incorrect to try to get there through a embarrassing mass assessment and an plan where the key objective was to reduce mass and lower your fat percentage.

Our twice-yearly trainings subsequently followed the same pattern. Weigh-in, measurement of fat percentage, fitness exams, laws of the game examinations, analysis of decisions, team activities and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a file, we all got data about our fitness statistics – indicators pointing if we were going in the correct path (down) or wrong direction (up).

Adipose measurements were grouped into five categories. An approved result was if you {belong