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I descended to the lower level, cleaned the scales I had avoided for a long time and looked at the readout: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had shed nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a umpire who was heavy and out of shape to being slender and fit. It had required effort, packed with determination, difficult choices and focus. But it was also the commencement of a change that progressively brought anxiety, strain and disquiet around the assessments that the top management had introduced.

You didn't just need to be a competent umpire, it was also about prioritising diet, looking like a elite referee, that the body mass and body fat were correct, otherwise you faced being penalized, being allocated fewer games and finding yourself in the cold.

When the refereeing organisation was replaced during the mid-2010 period, the leading figure brought in a set of modifications. During the first year, there was an strong concentration on body shape, weigh-ins and body fat, and required optical assessments. Eyesight examinations might appear as a expected practice, but it had not been before. At the training programs they not only examined elementary factors like being able to see fine print at a particular length, but also more specific tests adapted for elite soccer officials.

Some referees were found to be unable to distinguish certain hues. Another turned out to be lacking vision in one eye and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the whispers claimed, but everyone was unsure – because about the findings of the vision test, no information was shared in extended assemblies. For me, the eyesight exam was a reassurance. It indicated competence, meticulousness and a aim to enhance.

Concerning tests of weight and body fat, however, I mostly felt aversion, irritation and humiliation. It wasn't the assessments that were the issue, but the manner of execution.

The opening instance I was obliged to experience the degrading process was in the fall of 2010 at our yearly training. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the first morning, the referees were divided into three groups of about 15. When my group had walked into the big, chilly conference room where we were to gather, the supervisors urged us to undress to our underclothes. We exchanged glances, but everyone remained silent or attempted to object.

We carefully shed our attire. The previous night, we had been given clear instructions not to have any nourishment in the morning but to be as devoid as we could when we were to take the assessment. It was about showing minimal weight as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to look like a referee should according to the model.

There we stood in a long row, in just our underclothes. We were the elite arbiters of European football, professional competitors, role models, grown-ups, family providers, assertive characters with strong ethics … but no one said anything. We hardly peered at each other, our gazes flickered a bit apprehensively while we were invited as duos. There Collina examined us from top to bottom with an ice-cold gaze. Quiet and observant. We stepped onto the balance one by one. I contracted my abdomen, straightened my back and ceased breathing as if it would have an effect. One of the trainers clearly stated: "Eriksson from Sweden, 96.2kg." I felt how Collina stopped, observed me and surveyed my almost bare body. I thought to myself that this is undignified. I'm an mature individual and forced to remain here and be inspected and assessed.

I stepped off the weighing machine and it seemed like I was disoriented. The identical trainer approached with a sort of clamp, a instrument resembling a lie detector that he commenced pressing me with on assorted regions of the body. The measuring tool, as the device was called, was chilly and I jumped a little every time it made contact.

The trainer compressed, tugged, pressed, gauged, measured again, uttered indistinct words, squeezed once more and compressed my skin and fatty deposits. After each assessment point, he declared the number of millimetres he could measure.

I had no clue what the values signified, if it was positive or negative. It required about a minute. An helper recorded the values into a file, and when all readings had been calculated, the document rapidly computed my complete adipose level. My result was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

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

Why couldn't we get to our feet and state what each person felt: that it was degrading. If I had voiced my concerns I would have concurrently executed my professional demise. If I had questioned or opposed the methods that the boss had introduced then I would not have received any matches, I'm convinced of that.

Certainly, I also wanted to become fitter, weigh less and attain my target, to become a elite arbiter. It was clear you ought not to be heavy, similarly apparent you must be in shape – and admittedly, maybe the whole officiating group needed a standardization. But it was incorrect to try to reach that level through a degrading weight check and an strategy where the most important thing was to reduce mass and reduce your adipose level.

Our two annual courses after that adhered to the same routine. Weigh-in, adipose evaluation, fitness exams, laws of the game examinations, analysis of decisions, team activities and then at the end all would be recapped. On a report, we all got facts about our fitness statistics – indicators showing if we were going in the right direction (down) or incorrect path (up).

Body fat levels were categorised into five groups. An satisfactory reading was if you {belong