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I went to the lower level, cleaned the balance I had evaded for a long time and glanced at the screen: 99.2kg. Over the past eight years, I had dropped nearly 10kg. I had transformed from being a umpire who was bulky and untrained to being light and fit. It had taken time, full of patience, tough decisions and focus. But it was also the commencement of a shift that progressively brought pressure, pressure and unease around the examinations that the leadership had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a competent official, it was also about prioritising diet, looking like a elite referee, that the body mass and fat percentages were appropriate, otherwise you faced being reprimanded, getting fewer matches and finding yourself in the sidelines.

When the regulatory group was restructured during the mid-2010 period, the head official brought in a set of modifications. During the opening phase, there was an intense emphasis on physical condition, measurements of weight and adipose tissue, and mandatory vision tests. Vision tests might appear as a given practice, but it wasn't previously before. At the courses they not only examined fundamental aspects like being able to decipher tiny letters at a particular length, but also targeted assessments designed for elite soccer officials.

Some referees were found to be colour blind. Another turned out to be blind in one eye and was forced to quit. At least that's what the rumours said, but no one knew for sure – because about the outcomes of the optical assessment, details were withheld in extended assemblies. For me, the optical check was a comfort. It signalled competence, thoroughness and a goal to get better.

When it came to body mass examinations and adipose measurement, however, I primarily experienced revulsion, irritation and humiliation. It wasn't the assessments that were the issue, but the way they were conducted.

The first time I was obliged to experience the embarrassing ritual was in the late 2010 period at our regular session. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the initial session, the officials were divided into three teams of about 15. When my group had stepped into the big, chilly assembly area where we were to gather, the management directed us to remove our clothes to our intimate apparel. We glanced around, but no one reacted or ventured to speak.

We slowly took off our clothes. The evening before, we had received explicit directions not to have any nourishment in the morning but to be as empty as we could when we were to participate in the examination. 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 remained in a lengthy queue, in just our underclothes. We were Europe's best referees, top sportsmen, exemplars, grown-ups, parents, confident individuals with great integrity … but everyone remained mute. We hardly peered at each other, our looks shifted a bit apprehensively while we were invited as duos. There the chief scrutinized us from top to bottom with an chilling look. Silent and attentive. We mounted the balance individually. I sucked in my stomach, stood erect and stopped inhaling as if it would make any difference. One of the coaches audibly declared: "Eriksson from Sweden, 96.2kg." I perceived how Collina hesitated, glanced my way and surveyed my almost bare body. I mused that this lacks respect. I'm an grown person and obliged to be here and be evaluated and critiqued.

I descended from the scale and it appeared as if I was standing in a fog. The same instructor came forward with a kind of pliers, a device similar to a truth machine that he started to squeeze me with on different parts of the body. The pinching instrument, as the tool was called, was cold and I flinched a little every time it pressed against me.

The coach squeezed, pulled, pressed, quantified, reassessed, uttered indistinct words, reapplied force and compressed my dermis and body fat. After each measurement area, he declared the number of millimetres he could gauge.

I had no idea what the figures signified, if it was good or bad. It required about a minute. An helper entered the values into a record, and when all four values had been determined, the file swiftly determined my overall body fat. My result was proclaimed, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

What prevented me from, or somebody else, speak up?

What stopped us from stand up and say what each person felt: that it was degrading. If I had voiced my concerns I would have at the same time sealed my professional demise. If I had challenged or resisted the procedures that Collina had implemented then I would have been denied any games, I'm sure about that.

Certainly, I also desired to become fitter, reduce my mass and achieve my objective, to become a elite arbiter. It was clear you must not be overweight, equally obvious you ought to be in shape – and sure, maybe the complete roster of officials demanded a standardization. But it was wrong to try to achieve that through a humiliating weigh-in and an agenda where the primary focus was to lose weight and reduce your body fat.

Our biannual sessions subsequently followed the same pattern. Mass measurement, body fat assessment, endurance assessments, rule tests, reviews of interpretations, collaborative exercises and then at the end a summary was provided. On a report, we all got information about our body metrics – pointers showing if we were going in the correct path (down) or incorrect path (up).

Body fat levels were categorised into five categories. An approved result was if you {belong