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I ventured to the cellar, cleaned the balance I had avoided for several years and observed the display: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had dropped nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a official who was bulky and out of shape to being slender and conditioned. It had required effort, packed with persistence, difficult choices and focus. But it was also the beginning of a transformation that progressively brought stress, pressure and unease around the examinations that the authorities had introduced.

You didn't just need to be a competent official, it was also about focusing on nutrition, presenting as a premier referee, that the body mass and body fat were appropriate, otherwise you were in danger of being disciplined, receiving less assignments and landing in the wilderness.

When the regulatory group was replaced during the summer of 2010, the leading figure enacted a set of modifications. During the opening phase, there was an strong concentration on physical condition, measurements of weight and fat percentage, and compulsory eyesight exams. Vision tests might appear as a standard practice, but it wasn't previously before. At the training programs they not only tested fundamental aspects like being able to see fine print at a specific range, but also targeted assessments designed for professional football referees.

Some umpires were identified as color deficient. Another proved to be partially sighted and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the gossip claimed, but everyone was unsure – because regarding the outcomes of the vision test, details were withheld in extended assemblies. For me, the vision test was a confidence boost. It signalled expertise, thoroughness and a aim to improve.

When it came to weighing assessments and adipose measurement, however, I mostly felt revulsion, irritation and humiliation. It wasn't the assessments that were the issue, but the manner of execution.

The first time I was forced to endure the humiliating procedure was in the fall of 2010 at our annual course. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the initial session, the referees were separated into three groups of about 15. When my group had walked into the large, cold meeting hall where we were to meet, the management instructed us to strip down to our underwear. We exchanged glances, but no one reacted or attempted to object.

We slowly took off our clothes. The previous night, we had been given 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 minimal body fat as possible. And to appear as a referee should according to the standard.

There we remained in a extended line, in just our underwear. We were the continent's top officials, elite athletes, inspirations, grown-ups, caregivers, strong personalities with great integrity … but nobody spoke. We scarcely glanced at each other, our gazes flickered a bit apprehensively while we were called forward two by two. There the chief examined us from top to bottom with an chilling gaze. Quiet and attentive. We mounted the balance singly. I pulled in my belly, stood erect and held my breath as if it would make any difference. One of the coaches clearly stated: "The Swedish official, 96.2 kilograms." I felt how the chief paused, looked at me and scanned my nearly naked body. I reflected that this is not worthy. I'm an adult and compelled to stand here and be examined and judged.

I alighted from the scale and it felt like I was disoriented. The identical trainer approached with a sort of clamp, a polygraph-like tool that he commenced pressing me with on various areas of the body. The pinching instrument, as the device was called, was chilly and I started a little every time it pressed against me.

The coach pressed, pulled, pressed, quantified, rechecked, mumbled something inaudible, reapplied force and pinched my skin and body fat. After each assessment point, he called out the measurement in mm he could measure.

I had no idea what the figures stood for, if it was good or bad. It required about a minute. An helper recorded the figures into a record, and when all four values had been established, the document quickly calculated my total fat percentage. My result was declared, for all to hear: "Eriksson, 18.7%."

What prevented me from, or any other person, voice an opinion?

Why didn't we stand up and state what each person felt: that it was humiliating. If I had spoken out I would have concurrently signed my career's death sentence. If I had questioned or opposed the procedures that the boss had enforced then I wouldn't have got any fixtures, I'm sure about that.

Certainly, I also desired to become fitter, weigh less and attain my target, to become a world-class referee. It was obvious you shouldn't be overweight, similarly apparent you ought to be in shape – and sure, maybe the whole officiating group required a standardization. But it was incorrect to try to get there through a humiliating weigh-in and an agenda where the primary focus was to lose weight and reduce your body fat.

Our two annual courses thereafter adhered to the same routine. Mass measurement, adipose evaluation, running tests, laws of the game examinations, evaluation of rulings, collaborative exercises and then at the end all would be recapped. On a file, we all got facts about our body metrics – pointers indicating if we were going in the correct path (down) or wrong direction (up).

Fat percentages were grouped into five categories. An approved result was if you {belong