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I descended to the cellar, wiped the weighing machine I had shunned for a long time and observed the screen: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a referee who was overweight and out of shape to being lean and well trained. It had demanded dedication, packed with persistence, hard calls and priorities. But it was also the commencement of a change that gradually meant stress, strain and discomfort around the assessments that the top management had implemented.

You didn't just need to be a skilled official, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, presenting as a premier official, that the weight and body fat were appropriate, otherwise you faced being penalized, being allocated fewer games and ending up in the sidelines.

When the refereeing organisation was overhauled during the mid-2010 period, the leading figure enacted a set of modifications. During the initial period, there was an intense emphasis on body shape, measurements of weight and adipose tissue, and required optical assessments. Optical checks might appear as a standard practice, but it hadn't been before. At the sessions they not only evaluated basic things like being able to see fine print at a particular length, but also specialized examinations tailored to top-level match arbiters.

Some officials were discovered as colour blind. Another was revealed as partially sighted and was forced to quit. At least that's what the rumours suggested, but nobody was certain – because regarding the results of the vision test, nothing was revealed in big gatherings. For me, the vision test was a comfort. It indicated professionalism, attention to detail and a aim to enhance.

When it came to body mass examinations and fat percentage, however, I largely sensed disgust, frustration and humiliation. It wasn't the examinations that were the issue, but the way they were conducted.

The first time I was obliged to experience the embarrassing ritual was in the late 2010 period at our regular session. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the opening day, the officials were split into three units of about 15. When my team had entered the big, chilly conference room where we were to gather, the leadership directed us to remove our clothes to our underwear. We glanced around, but nobody responded or attempted to object.

We gradually removed our clothes. The prior evening, 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 registering the lowest mass as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to resemble a umpire should according to the model.

There we remained in a extended line, in just our underwear. We were Europe's best referees, professional competitors, role models, mature individuals, caregivers, confident individuals with strong ethics … but everyone remained mute. We scarcely glanced at each other, our gazes flickered a bit apprehensively while we were summoned as duos. There Collina examined us from top to bottom with an ice-cold stare. Silent and attentive. We stepped on the scale one by one. I pulled in my belly, straightened my back and held my breath as if it would have an effect. One of the instructors clearly stated: "The Swedish official, 96.2 kilograms." I sensed how the chief paused, looked at me and surveyed my partially unclothed body. I thought to myself that this is undignified. I'm an grown person and forced to be here and be examined and judged.

I alighted from the balance and it appeared as if I was standing in a fog. The equivalent coach came forward with a type of caliper, a device similar to a truth machine that he commenced pressing me with on various areas of the body. The pinching instrument, as the instrument was called, was cool and I started a little every time it touched my body.

The trainer squeezed, drew, pressed, quantified, measured again, mumbled something inaudible, reapplied force and squeezed my epidermis and adipose tissue. After each measurement area, he announced the metric reading he could assess.

I had no clue what the values stood for, if it was positive or negative. It lasted approximately a minute. An aide inputted the values into a document, and when all readings had been determined, the document quickly calculated my complete adipose level. My result was declared, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

What prevented me from, or any other person, say anything?

What stopped us from stand up and express what everyone thought: that it was degrading. If I had voiced my concerns I would have concurrently signed my career's death sentence. If I had challenged or challenged the methods that the chief had implemented then I would have been denied any matches, I'm convinced of that.

Of course, I also aimed to become fitter, weigh less and attain my target, to become a elite arbiter. It was obvious you shouldn't be heavy, just as clear you should be conditioned – and sure, maybe the whole officiating group demanded a professionalisation. But it was improper to try to achieve that through a embarrassing mass assessment and an agenda where the key objective was to shed pounds and minimise your body fat.

Our biannual sessions thereafter followed the same pattern. Weight check, adipose evaluation, fitness exams, regulation quizzes, analysis of decisions, collaborative exercises and then at the end a summary was provided. On a file, we all got facts about our body metrics – arrows pointing if we were going in the correct path (down) or wrong direction (up).

Adipose measurements were grouped into five tiers. An satisfactory reading was if you {belong