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I went to the basement, cleaned the balance I had avoided for several years and looked at the screen: 99.2kg. Over the past eight years, I had shed nearly 10kg. I had transformed from being a referee who was bulky and unfit to being lean and well trained. It had required effort, filled with determination, tough decisions and focus. But it was also the commencement of a change that gradually meant stress, pressure and unease around the tests that the leadership had introduced.

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

When the officiating body was restructured during the mid-2010 period, the head official brought in a series of reforms. During the first year, there was an strong concentration on physique, weigh-ins and adipose tissue, and required optical assessments. Vision tests might appear as a given practice, but it wasn't previously before. At the courses they not only tested elementary factors like being able to decipher tiny letters at a particular length, but also specialized examinations designed for professional football referees.

Some umpires were found to be unable to distinguish certain hues. Another was revealed as blind in one eye and was forced to quit. At least that's what the rumours claimed, but everyone was unsure – because regarding the results of the vision test, nothing was revealed in big gatherings. For me, the vision test was a confidence boost. It signalled expertise, thoroughness and a desire to enhance.

When it came to weighing assessments and fat percentage, however, I largely sensed aversion, frustration and embarrassment. It wasn't the assessments that were the difficulty, but the method of implementation.

The opening instance I was compelled to undergo the embarrassing ritual was in the autumn of 2010 at our regular session. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the initial session, the officials were separated into three groups of about 15. When my unit had stepped into the large, cold meeting hall where we were to gather, the supervisors directed us to undress to our intimate apparel. We glanced around, but nobody responded or attempted to object.

We slowly took off our garments. The previous night, we had received specific orders not to consume food or beverages in the morning but to be as depleted as we could when we were to participate in the examination. It was about showing minimal weight as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to appear as a referee should according to the standard.

There we stood in a extended line, in just our intimate apparel. We were the continent's top officials, top sportsmen, exemplars, adults, parents, confident individuals with great integrity … but nobody spoke. We scarcely glanced at each other, our gazes flickered a bit nervously while we were invited two by two. There the boss observed us from head to toe with an ice-cold gaze. Quiet and attentive. We stepped onto the balance singly. I contracted my abdomen, stood erect and ceased breathing as if it would change the outcome. One of the instructors clearly stated: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I perceived how the boss hesitated, observed me and surveyed my nearly naked body. I reflected that this lacks respect. I'm an adult and obliged to stand here and be evaluated and judged.

I alighted from the scale and it appeared as if I was standing in a fog. The identical trainer approached with a type of caliper, a polygraph-like tool that he commenced pressing me with on different parts of the body. The measuring tool, as the instrument was called, was cool and I started a little every time it made contact.

The trainer compressed, pulled, forced, measured, rechecked, mumbled something inaudible, squeezed once more and pinched my epidermis and body fat. After each test site, he announced the measurement in mm he could assess.

I had no clue what the values stood for, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It lasted approximately a minute. An helper recorded the values into a file, and when all measurements had been calculated, the document quickly calculated my overall body fat. My value was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

What prevented me from, or anyone else, say anything?

Why couldn't we rise and state what everyone thought: that it was humiliating. If I had voiced my concerns I would have at the same time sealed my professional demise. If I had questioned or resisted the methods that the boss had implemented then I would have been denied any matches, I'm certain of that.

Certainly, I also wanted to become fitter, reduce my mass and reach my goal, to become a top-tier official. It was obvious you must not be overweight, just as clear you should be fit – and certainly, maybe the entire referee corps needed a standardization. But it was incorrect to try to reach that level through a humiliating weigh-in and an agenda where the primary focus was to shed pounds and lower your body fat.

Our biannual sessions subsequently adhered to the same routine. Mass measurement, body fat assessment, endurance assessments, laws of the game examinations, evaluation of rulings, team activities and then at the end all would be recapped. On a document, we all got data about our body metrics – pointers indicating if we were going in the right direction (down) or improper course (up).

Adipose measurements were classified into five tiers. An approved result was if you {belong