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I descended to the basement, wiped the scales I had evaded for several years and glanced at the readout: 99.2kg. Throughout the previous eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had evolved from being a referee who was bulky and out of shape to being slender and well trained. It had taken time, filled with patience, tough decisions and commitments. But it was also the start of a shift that gradually meant pressure, tension and discomfort around the assessments that the top management had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a competent referee, it was also about prioritising diet, looking like a premier official, that the mass and adipose levels were right, otherwise you risked being reprimanded, getting fewer matches and ending up in the sidelines.

When the refereeing organisation was overhauled during the mid-2010 period, the leading figure introduced a number of changes. During the opening phase, there was an extreme focus on physical condition, body mass assessments and adipose tissue, and compulsory eyesight exams. Eyesight examinations might seem like a given practice, but it wasn't previously before. At the courses they not only examined elementary factors like being able to decipher tiny letters at a specific range, but also more specific tests adapted for elite soccer officials.

Some officials were discovered as unable to distinguish certain hues. Another proved to be lacking vision in one eye and was obliged to retire. At least that's what the rumours claimed, but nobody was certain – because concerning the results of the eyesight exam, no information was shared in big gatherings. For me, the vision test was a reassurance. It demonstrated professionalism, thoroughness and a goal to enhance.

Regarding weighing assessments and body fat, however, I largely sensed aversion, irritation and degradation. It wasn't the assessments 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 annual course. We were in a European city. On the first morning, the referees were split into three teams of about 15. When my unit had stepped into the spacious, cool conference room where we were to assemble, the supervisors directed us to strip down to our underwear. We glanced around, but no one reacted or attempted to object.

We gradually removed our clothes. The prior evening, we had obtained clear instructions not to have any nourishment in the morning but to be as devoid as we could when we were to participate in the examination. It was about weighing as little as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to appear as a umpire should according to the standard.

There we stood in a extended line, in just our underclothes. We were the continent's top officials, professional competitors, role models, adults, parents, assertive characters with great integrity … but everyone remained mute. We scarcely glanced at each other, our gazes flickered a bit anxiously while we were invited as duos. There Collina observed us from completely with an chilling stare. Silent and watchful. We mounted the scale one by one. I sucked in my abdomen, straightened my back and held my breath as if it would change the outcome. One of the instructors loudly announced: "Eriksson from Sweden, 96.2kg." I perceived how Collina hesitated, looked at me and surveyed my partially unclothed body. I thought to myself that this is undignified. I'm an grown person and obliged to be here and be examined and assessed.

I alighted from the balance and it felt like I was disoriented. The equivalent coach advanced 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 caliper, as the device was called, was cool and I jumped a little every time it pressed against me.

The trainer squeezed, drew, forced, measured, rechecked, mumbled something inaudible, reapplied force and pinched my dermis and body fat. After each measurement area, he declared the metric reading he could measure.

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

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

What stopped us from stand up and state what everyone thought: that it was demeaning. If I had raised my voice I would have concurrently executed my professional demise. If I had doubted or opposed the methods that the boss had implemented then I wouldn't have got any fixtures, I'm convinced of that.

Naturally, I also desired to become more athletic, be lighter and achieve my objective, to become a world-class referee. It was obvious you ought not to be above the ideal weight, just as clear you must be fit – and certainly, maybe the whole officiating group required a professional upgrade. But it was wrong to try to get there through a humiliating weigh-in and an agenda where the primary focus was to reduce mass and lower your adipose level.

Our two annual courses after that maintained the same structure. Weigh-in, measurement of fat percentage, fitness exams, laws of the game examinations, evaluation of rulings, collaborative exercises and then at the end a summary was provided. On a report, we all got facts about our body metrics – arrows showing if we were going in the correct path (down) or incorrect path (up).

Body fat levels were grouped into five tiers. An acceptable outcome was if you {belong