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I descended to the cellar, cleaned the weighing machine I had shunned for a long time and glanced at the display: 99.2kg. Over the past eight years, I had shed nearly 10kg. I had evolved from being a referee who was heavy and unfit to being slender and well trained. It had required effort, packed with determination, hard calls and commitments. But it was also the beginning of a shift that slowly introduced pressure, pressure and unease around the assessments that the leadership had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a good umpire, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, presenting as a premier official, that the weight and fat percentages were correct, otherwise you faced being penalized, receiving less assignments and ending up in the cold.

When the officiating body was overhauled during the mid-2010 period, the head official brought in a set of modifications. During the initial period, there was an extreme focus on body shape, body mass assessments and adipose tissue, and compulsory eyesight exams. Eyesight examinations might appear as a given practice, but it hadn't been before. At the training programs they not only tested basic things like being able to decipher tiny letters at a specific range, but also specialized examinations adapted for top-level match arbiters.

Some referees were identified as unable to distinguish certain hues. Another turned out to be partially sighted and was obliged to retire. At least that's what the whispers claimed, but nobody was certain – because regarding the results of the eyesight exam, details were withheld in extended assemblies. For me, the vision test was a comfort. It demonstrated expertise, meticulousness and a aim to enhance.

Concerning tests of weight and adipose measurement, however, I mostly felt aversion, anger and humiliation. It wasn't the tests that were the issue, but the way they were conducted.

The initial occasion I was compelled to undergo the degrading process was in the autumn of 2010 at our regular session. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the opening day, the umpires were divided into three units of about 15. When my unit had entered the spacious, cool conference room where we were to gather, the leadership instructed us to undress to our intimate apparel. We exchanged glances, but everyone remained silent or attempted to object.

We carefully shed our attire. The prior evening, we had received specific orders not to eat or drink in the morning but to be as depleted as we could when we were to undergo the test. It was about weighing as little as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to resemble a umpire should according to the paradigm.

There we stood in a extended line, in just our intimate apparel. We were the elite arbiters of European football, elite athletes, inspirations, adults, caregivers, assertive characters with high principles … but nobody spoke. We barely looked at each other, our looks shifted a bit apprehensively while we were summoned as duos. There the boss observed us from top to bottom with an ice-cold gaze. Silent and watchful. We mounted the balance singly. I contracted my abdomen, adjusted my posture and held my breath as if it would make any difference. One of the trainers loudly announced: "The Swedish official, 96.2 kilograms." I felt how the boss stopped, looked at me and surveyed my nearly naked body. I reflected that this is not worthy. I'm an adult and obliged to stand here and be inspected and assessed.

I descended from the weighing machine and it felt like I was in a daze. The same instructor came forward with a type of caliper, a device similar to a truth machine that he began to pinch me with on different parts of the body. The pinching instrument, as the device was called, was chilly and I jumped a little every time it made contact.

The coach pressed, tugged, forced, gauged, reassessed, spoke unclearly, squeezed once more and pinched my dermis and body fat. After each measurement area, he declared the measurement in mm he could gauge.

I had no clue what the figures represented, if it was positive or negative. It lasted approximately a minute. An helper entered the numbers into a record, and when all readings had been calculated, the document quickly calculated my overall body fat. My reading was declared, for all to hear: "Eriksson, 18.7%."

Why didn't I, or any other person, voice an opinion?

Why didn't we rise and express what all were thinking: that it was humiliating. If I had voiced my concerns I would have simultaneously signed my career's death sentence. If I had questioned or opposed the techniques that the boss had implemented then I would have been denied any games, I'm convinced of that.

Naturally, I also wanted to become fitter, be lighter and achieve my objective, to become a elite arbiter. It was evident you must not be overweight, just as clear you should be conditioned – and sure, maybe the whole officiating group required a professionalisation. But it was wrong to try to achieve that through a humiliating weigh-in and an agenda where the key objective was to lose weight and reduce your adipose level.

Our two annual courses after that adhered to the same routine. Weight check, body fat assessment, fitness exams, laws of the game examinations, reviews of interpretations, collaborative exercises and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a file, we all got facts about our physical profile – pointers indicating if we were going in the correct path (down) or improper course (up).

Fat percentages were classified into five groups. An satisfactory reading was if you {belong