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I went to the basement, cleaned the balance I had evaded for several years and looked at the screen: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had transformed from being a referee who was bulky and out of shape to being slender and fit. It had demanded dedication, full of persistence, hard calls and focus. But it was also the start of a shift that progressively brought stress, tension and disquiet around the tests that the leadership had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a competent official, it was also about focusing on nutrition, appearing as a premier umpire, that the mass and body fat were correct, otherwise you faced being reprimanded, receiving less assignments and finding yourself in the sidelines.

When the refereeing organisation was replaced during the summer of 2010, the head official brought in a series of reforms. During the opening phase, there was an extreme focus on body shape, measurements of weight and adipose tissue, and compulsory eyesight exams. Optical checks might seem like a expected practice, but it wasn't previously before. At the courses they not only tested fundamental aspects like being able to see fine print at a certain distance, but also specialized examinations designed for top-level match arbiters.

Some umpires were found to be colour blind. Another was revealed as lacking vision in one eye and was forced to quit. At least that's what the gossip claimed, but everyone was unsure – because about the results of the vision test, details were withheld in larger groups. For me, the vision test was a comfort. It demonstrated professionalism, attention to detail and a desire to get better.

Regarding body mass examinations and fat percentage, however, I largely sensed revulsion, frustration and humiliation. It wasn't the examinations that were the issue, but the method of implementation.

The initial occasion I was forced to endure the embarrassing ritual was in the late 2010 period at our annual course. We were in a European city. On the initial session, the referees were split into three groups of about 15. When my group had walked into the large, cold meeting hall where we were to gather, the management instructed us to undress to our underwear. We looked at each other, but nobody responded or attempted to object.

We carefully shed our clothes. The prior evening, we had obtained explicit directions 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 umpire should according to the paradigm.

There we were positioned in a extended line, in just our underwear. We were the continent's top officials, elite athletes, role models, mature individuals, caregivers, assertive characters with high principles … but everyone remained mute. We scarcely glanced at each other, our looks shifted a bit anxiously while we were summoned in pairs. There the boss scrutinized us from completely with an chilling look. Mute and observant. We stepped on the balance individually. I pulled in my stomach, stood erect and held my breath as if it would make any difference. One of the instructors audibly declared: "Eriksson from Sweden, 96.2kg." I felt how Collina paused, looked at me and scanned my nearly naked body. I reflected that this is not worthy. I'm an grown person and compelled to stand here and be examined and judged.

I stepped off the weighing machine and it appeared as if I was disoriented. The equivalent coach came forward with a kind of pliers, a polygraph-like tool that he began to pinch me with on assorted regions of the body. The pinching instrument, as the instrument was called, was chilly and I flinched a little every time it touched my body.

The coach compressed, drew, pressed, quantified, measured again, uttered indistinct words, squeezed once more and compressed my epidermis and adipose tissue. After each measurement area, he called out the measurement in mm he could measure.

I had no idea what the values signified, if it was good or bad. It took maybe just over a minute. An helper inputted the figures into a file, and when all measurements had been determined, the file swiftly determined my overall body fat. My result was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

Why did I not, or somebody else, speak up?

What stopped us from stand up and say what each person felt: that it was humiliating. If I had voiced my concerns I would have concurrently executed my end of my officiating path. If I had doubted or challenged the procedures that Collina had enforced then I would not have received any games, I'm convinced of that.

Of course, I also aimed to become more athletic, reduce my mass and attain my target, to become a elite arbiter. It was clear you ought not to be heavy, equally obvious you should be in shape – and admittedly, maybe the whole officiating group required a professionalisation. But it was wrong to try to reach that level through a embarrassing mass assessment and an agenda where the most important thing was to shed pounds and lower your adipose level.

Our biannual sessions thereafter followed the same pattern. Mass measurement, adipose evaluation, fitness exams, laws of the game examinations, reviews of interpretations, team activities and then at the end all would be recapped. On a document, we all got data about our body metrics – indicators showing if we were going in the proper course (down) or improper course (up).

Fat percentages were grouped into five categories. An approved result was if you {belong