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I ventured to the basement, dusted off the scales I had evaded for many years and glanced at the readout: 99.2kg. Over the past eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had transformed from being a umpire who was heavy and unfit to being light and fit. It had required effort, filled with persistence, difficult choices and focus. But it was also the commencement of a shift that progressively brought anxiety, strain and disquiet around the assessments that the leadership had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a competent official, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, looking like a top-level referee, that the body mass and fat percentages were correct, otherwise you faced being disciplined, getting fewer matches and landing in the sidelines.

When the refereeing organisation was replaced during the summer of 2010, Pierluigi Collina brought in a set of modifications. During the first year, there was an strong concentration on physique, measurements of weight and body fat, and compulsory eyesight exams. Eyesight examinations might appear as a standard practice, but it had not been before. At the sessions they not only evaluated fundamental aspects like being able to see fine print at a certain distance, but also more specific tests tailored to top-level match arbiters.

Some umpires were discovered as unable to distinguish certain hues. Another turned out to be blind in one eye and was obliged to retire. At least that's what the rumours said, but everyone was unsure – because concerning the outcomes of the vision test, nothing was revealed in extended assemblies. For me, the vision test was a reassurance. It signalled competence, meticulousness and a aim to improve.

Regarding body mass examinations and adipose measurement, however, I primarily experienced disgust, frustration and humiliation. It wasn't the examinations that were the issue, but the method of implementation.

The initial occasion I was obliged to experience the humiliating procedure was in the autumn of 2010 at our regular session. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the opening day, the officials were divided into three groups of about 15. When my team had walked into the big, chilly meeting hall where we were to assemble, the supervisors urged us to strip down to our underclothes. We exchanged glances, but everyone remained silent or dared to say anything.

We gradually removed our clothes. The previous night, we had received specific orders not to consume food or beverages in the morning but to be as empty as we could when we were to undergo the test. It was about showing minimal weight as possible, and having as reduced adipose level as possible. And to appear as a referee should according to the model.

There we remained in a extended line, in just our intimate apparel. We were the elite arbiters of European football, top sportsmen, role models, adults, caregivers, assertive characters with great integrity … but everyone remained mute. We hardly peered at each other, our gazes flickered a bit nervously while we were called forward in pairs. There the chief observed us from top to bottom with an frigid look. Mute and watchful. We stepped on the balance singly. I sucked in my stomach, straightened my back and stopped inhaling as if it would change the outcome. One of the instructors loudly announced: "Eriksson from Sweden, 96.2kg." I sensed how the chief paused, looked at me and scanned my almost bare body. I mused that this lacks respect. I'm an adult and forced to be here and be evaluated and critiqued.

I stepped off the balance and it felt like I was disoriented. The same instructor came forward with a type of caliper, a polygraph-like tool that he commenced pressing me with on different parts of the body. The caliper, as the tool was called, was cool and I started a little every time it pressed against me.

The trainer squeezed, tugged, pressed, measured, measured again, uttered indistinct words, pressed again and squeezed my epidermis and fatty deposits. After each test site, he announced the measurement in mm he could assess.

I had no idea what the values signified, if it was good or bad. It required about a minute. An helper entered the values into a file, and when all readings had been established, the record quickly calculated my overall body fat. My value was declared, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

Why didn't I, or anyone else, say anything?

What stopped us from stand up and express what all were thinking: that it was degrading. If I had voiced my concerns I would have concurrently signed my professional demise. If I had doubted or challenged the procedures that the boss had implemented then I would not have received any games, I'm convinced of that.

Certainly, I also wanted to become in better shape, reduce my mass and attain my target, to become a world-class referee. It was evident you shouldn't be heavy, just as clear you should be fit – and sure, maybe the complete roster of officials demanded a professional upgrade. But it was wrong to try to achieve that through a humiliating weigh-in and an agenda where the key objective was to shed pounds and reduce your adipose level.

Our biannual sessions after that adhered to the same routine. Weight check, adipose evaluation, endurance assessments, regulation quizzes, evaluation of rulings, team activities and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a report, we all got information about our physical profile – pointers pointing if we were going in the correct path (down) or improper course (up).

Adipose measurements were classified into five groups. An satisfactory reading was if you {belong