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I went to the lower level, dusted off the balance I had avoided for many years and observed the readout: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had shed nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a official who was overweight and untrained to being lean and fit. It had required effort, filled with persistence, hard calls and priorities. But it was also the commencement of a transformation that slowly introduced anxiety, tension and disquiet around the examinations that the leadership had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a competent referee, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, appearing as a top-level referee, that the weight and fat percentages were correct, otherwise you faced being reprimanded, getting fewer matches and finding yourself in the wilderness.

When the regulatory group was replaced during the summer of 2010, Pierluigi Collina introduced a number of changes. During the first year, there was an extreme focus on physical condition, body mass assessments and adipose tissue, and compulsory eyesight exams. Eyesight examinations might sound like a given practice, but it had not been before. At the courses they not only examined basic things like being able to see fine print at a certain distance, but also more specific tests adapted for top-level match arbiters.

Some umpires were found to be color deficient. Another proved to be lacking vision in one eye and was obliged to retire. At least that's what the whispers said, but nobody was certain – because regarding the outcomes of the eyesight exam, nothing was revealed in larger groups. For me, the optical check was a comfort. It demonstrated expertise, attention to detail and a desire to get better.

Concerning body mass examinations and body fat, however, I mostly felt aversion, anger and embarrassment. It wasn't the tests that were the difficulty, but the way they were conducted.

The first time I was compelled to undergo the embarrassing ritual was in the autumn of 2010 at our yearly training. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the first morning, the referees were separated into three teams of about 15. When my team had walked into the large, cold meeting hall where we were to assemble, the management urged us to remove our clothes to our underwear. We glanced around, but no one reacted or attempted to object.

We gradually removed our attire. The previous night, we had been given explicit directions not to eat or drink 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 minimal body fat as possible. And to look like a official should according to the model.

There we were positioned in a extended line, in just our underclothes. We were the elite arbiters of European football, professional competitors, exemplars, adults, caregivers, strong personalities with strong ethics … but no one said anything. We scarcely glanced at each other, our gazes flickered a bit apprehensively while we were summoned in pairs. There the chief examined us from completely with an chilling gaze. Silent and watchful. We stepped onto the scale singly. I contracted my belly, straightened my back and stopped inhaling as if it would make any difference. One of the instructors clearly stated: "Eriksson from Sweden, 96.2kg." I felt how the boss stopped, looked at me and surveyed my nearly naked body. I thought to myself that this is not worthy. I'm an mature individual and compelled to remain here and be inspected and judged.

I descended from the balance and it appeared as if I was disoriented. The equivalent coach came forward with a kind of pliers, a instrument resembling a lie detector that he commenced pressing me with on various areas of the body. The measuring tool, as the instrument was called, was cool and I flinched a little every time it touched my body.

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

I had no clue what the values represented, if it was good or bad. It required about a minute. An assistant inputted the numbers into a file, and when all measurements had been established, the record rapidly computed my overall body fat. My value was announced, for all to hear: "The official, 18.7 percent."

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

What stopped us from stand up and say what each person felt: that it was degrading. If I had spoken out I would have at the same time signed my professional demise. If I had challenged or resisted the techniques that Collina had implemented then I wouldn't have got any games, I'm convinced of that.

Naturally, I also wanted to become more athletic, reduce my mass and attain my target, to become a top-tier official. It was evident you ought not to be heavy, just as clear you should be in shape – and certainly, maybe the complete roster of officials needed a professional upgrade. But it was improper to try to achieve that through a humiliating weigh-in and an agenda where the key objective was to shed pounds and reduce your fat percentage.

Our twice-yearly trainings after that followed the same pattern. Mass measurement, body fat assessment, endurance assessments, rule tests, analysis of decisions, group work and then at the end a summary was provided. On a document, we all got facts about our fitness statistics – pointers indicating if we were going in the right direction (down) or wrong direction (up).

Adipose measurements were categorised into five tiers. An acceptable outcome was if you {belong