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I descended to the lower level, cleaned the scales I had shunned for a long time and glanced at the screen: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had evolved from being a official who was heavy and untrained to being light and fit. It had demanded dedication, filled with determination, hard calls and focus. But it was also the commencement of a transformation that gradually meant anxiety, tension and discomfort around the tests that the top management had introduced.

You didn't just need to be a good referee, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, presenting as a elite umpire, that the mass and fat percentages were right, otherwise you were in danger of being penalized, being allocated fewer games and ending up in the wilderness.

When the officiating body was restructured during the 2010 summer season, the leading figure brought in a set of modifications. During the first year, there was an intense emphasis on physical condition, weigh-ins and fat percentage, and compulsory eyesight exams. Eyesight examinations might sound like a standard practice, but it wasn't previously before. At the sessions they not only examined elementary factors like being able to see fine print at a certain distance, but also specialized examinations designed for professional football referees.

Some umpires were discovered as color deficient. Another proved to be blind in one eye and was forced to quit. At least that's what the rumours suggested, but no one knew for sure – because concerning the findings of the eyesight exam, nothing was revealed in extended assemblies. For me, the eyesight exam was a confidence boost. It indicated professionalism, meticulousness and a desire to enhance.

Concerning tests of weight and body fat, however, I mostly felt revulsion, frustration and embarrassment. It wasn't the examinations that were the difficulty, but the method of implementation.

The initial occasion I was forced to endure the degrading process was in the autumn of 2010 at our regular session. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the first morning, the referees were split into three teams of about 15. When my unit had entered the big, chilly meeting hall where we were to meet, the leadership directed us to strip down to our underclothes. We exchanged glances, but nobody responded or dared to say anything.

We gradually removed our clothes. The previous night, we had obtained specific orders 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 weighing as little as possible, and having as minimal body fat as possible. And to resemble a referee should according to the model.

There we were positioned in a lengthy queue, in just our intimate apparel. We were Europe's best referees, professional competitors, exemplars, grown-ups, caregivers, strong personalities with great integrity … but everyone remained mute. We barely looked at each other, our eyes darted a bit anxiously while we were invited two by two. There Collina scrutinized us from top to bottom with an ice-cold look. Quiet and attentive. We stepped onto the balance singly. I pulled in my stomach, adjusted my posture and held my breath as if it would have an effect. One of the instructors clearly stated: "Eriksson from Sweden, 96.2kg." I perceived how Collina hesitated, looked at me and inspected my nearly naked body. I thought to myself that this lacks respect. I'm an grown person and compelled to stand here and be evaluated and judged.

I descended from the weighing machine and it appeared as if I was in a daze. The identical trainer advanced with a kind of pliers, a polygraph-like tool that he commenced pressing me with on various areas of the body. The measuring tool, as the tool was called, was cool and I started a little every time it pressed against me.

The coach pressed, pulled, applied pressure, quantified, measured again, uttered indistinct words, squeezed once more and pinched my dermis and body fat. After each assessment point, he declared the measurement in mm he could gauge.

I had no idea what the numbers represented, if it was good or bad. It took maybe just over a minute. An aide recorded the numbers into a file, and when all measurements had been calculated, the record quickly calculated my complete adipose level. My result was proclaimed, for all to hear: "The official, 18.7 percent."

Why didn't I, or any other person, say anything?

Why didn't we rise and state what all were thinking: that it was humiliating. If I had voiced my concerns I would have concurrently signed my end of my officiating path. If I had challenged or resisted the techniques that the boss had implemented then I would not have received any games, I'm sure about that.

Naturally, I also desired to become more athletic, weigh less and attain my target, to become a top-tier official. It was clear you ought not to be heavy, similarly apparent you should be conditioned – and sure, maybe the entire referee corps required a professional upgrade. But it was improper to try to get there through a embarrassing mass assessment and an strategy where the key objective was to shed pounds and lower your fat percentage.

Our twice-yearly trainings subsequently followed the same pattern. 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 file, we all got data about our body metrics – arrows pointing if we were going in the right direction (down) or incorrect path (up).

Fat percentages were grouped into five categories. An satisfactory reading was if you {belong