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I went to the cellar, dusted off the scales I had shunned for several years and looked at the screen: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had dropped nearly 10kg. I had transformed from being a official who was heavy and untrained to being slender and conditioned. It had required effort, full of patience, difficult choices and priorities. But it was also the beginning of a transformation that slowly introduced stress, pressure and unease around the tests that the top management had implemented.

You didn't just need to be a competent referee, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, appearing as a elite umpire, that the mass and fat percentages were appropriate, otherwise you risked being reprimanded, receiving less assignments and ending up in the wilderness.

When the officiating body was replaced 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 body fat, and mandatory vision tests. Eyesight examinations might seem like a standard practice, but it hadn't been before. At the sessions they not only tested elementary factors like being able to decipher tiny letters at a specific range, but also specialized examinations designed for elite soccer officials.

Some umpires were discovered as color deficient. Another proved to be blind in one eye and was forced to quit. At least that's what the rumours suggested, but nobody was certain – because regarding the findings of the vision test, nothing was revealed in larger groups. For me, the vision test was a reassurance. It indicated competence, thoroughness and a goal to enhance.

Concerning body mass examinations and fat percentage, however, I mostly felt aversion, frustration and humiliation. It wasn't the tests that were the issue, but the manner of execution.

The opening instance I was obliged to experience the humiliating procedure was in the autumn of 2010 at our yearly training. We were in a European city. On the first morning, the referees were divided into three groups of about 15. When my team had entered the large, cold conference room where we were to gather, the management directed us to undress to our underclothes. We exchanged glances, but no one reacted or attempted to object.

We slowly took off our garments. The previous night, we had received clear instructions not to consume food or beverages 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 reduced adipose level as possible. And to appear as a official should according to the model.

There we remained in a lengthy queue, in just our intimate apparel. We were Europe's best referees, professional competitors, role models, adults, family providers, confident individuals with strong ethics … but nobody spoke. We hardly peered at each other, our gazes flickered a bit apprehensively while we were called forward two by two. There the boss examined us from head to toe with an ice-cold stare. Quiet and attentive. We stepped on the scale individually. I contracted my abdomen, straightened my back and held my breath as if it would make any difference. One of the trainers clearly stated: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I sensed how the boss hesitated, glanced my way and inspected my partially unclothed body. I reflected that this is undignified. I'm an adult and forced to remain here and be examined and judged.

I descended from the scale and it seemed like I was in a daze. The equivalent coach came forward with a kind of pliers, a device similar to a truth machine that he commenced pressing me with on different parts of the body. The caliper, as the tool was called, was chilly and I jumped a little every time it pressed against me.

The coach compressed, tugged, applied pressure, quantified, reassessed, uttered indistinct words, squeezed once more and pinched my epidermis and body fat. After each test site, he announced the measurement in mm he could measure.

I had no idea what the figures represented, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It required about a minute. An aide recorded the numbers into a document, and when all four values had been established, the document swiftly determined my total fat percentage. My result was proclaimed, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

Why did I not, or any other person, speak up?

What stopped us from rise and state what all were thinking: that it was humiliating. If I had voiced my concerns I would have concurrently executed my end of my officiating path. If I had challenged or resisted the procedures that the chief had enforced then I would not have received any matches, I'm convinced of that.

Of course, I also desired to become fitter, reduce my mass and achieve my objective, to become a world-class referee. It was obvious you shouldn't be above the ideal weight, similarly apparent you must be fit – and sure, maybe the complete roster of officials needed a standardization. But it was wrong to try to get there through a embarrassing mass assessment and an plan where the primary focus was to shed pounds and lower your fat percentage.

Our biannual sessions after that maintained the same structure. Weigh-in, body fat assessment, endurance assessments, regulation quizzes, analysis of decisions, collaborative exercises and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a document, we all got information about our physical profile – arrows showing if we were going in the proper course (down) or improper course (up).

Body fat levels were classified into five categories. An satisfactory reading was if you {belong