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I descended to the lower level, cleaned the balance I had shunned for many years and observed the display: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had shed nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a referee who was overweight and unfit to being lean and well trained. It had demanded dedication, full of determination, hard calls and focus. But it was also the start of a change that gradually meant anxiety, tension and disquiet around the tests that the top management had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a good umpire, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, appearing as a top-level umpire, that the weight and body fat were appropriate, otherwise you risked being penalized, being allocated fewer games and finding yourself in the cold.

When the officiating body was replaced during the mid-2010 period, Pierluigi Collina enacted a number of changes. During the first year, there was an strong concentration on physique, measurements of weight and body fat, and compulsory eyesight exams. Optical checks might sound like a given practice, but it hadn't been before. At the training programs they not only evaluated fundamental aspects like being able to read small text at a particular length, but also specialized examinations adapted for top-level match arbiters.

Some officials were discovered as color deficient. Another turned out to be blind in one eye and was obliged to retire. At least that's what the whispers claimed, but nobody was certain – because concerning the outcomes of the eyesight exam, no information was shared in larger groups. For me, the optical check was a reassurance. It signalled professionalism, thoroughness and a desire to improve.

Concerning body mass examinations and adipose measurement, however, I primarily experienced aversion, anger and humiliation. It wasn't the tests that were the problem, but the method of implementation.

The first time I was obliged to experience the degrading process was in the fall of 2010 at our regular session. We were in a European city. On the first morning, the officials were split into three teams of about 15. When my team had stepped into the large, cold meeting hall where we were to meet, the management directed us to undress to our intimate apparel. We glanced around, but nobody responded or ventured to speak.

We carefully shed our garments. The evening before, we had obtained specific orders not to consume food or beverages in the morning but to be as devoid as we could when we were to participate in the examination. It was about weighing as little as possible, and having as reduced adipose level as possible. And to appear as a umpire should according to the standard.

There we were positioned in a long row, in just our underclothes. We were the elite arbiters of European football, top sportsmen, role models, grown-ups, parents, confident individuals with great integrity … 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 boss scrutinized us from completely with an frigid stare. Quiet and attentive. We mounted the weighing machine individually. I sucked in my stomach, adjusted my posture and ceased breathing as if it would have an effect. One of the trainers audibly declared: "Eriksson from Sweden, 96.2kg." I sensed how the chief paused, observed me and scanned my partially unclothed body. I thought to myself that this is undignified. I'm an mature individual and forced to remain here and be inspected and assessed.

I descended from the balance and it seemed like I was disoriented. The equivalent coach came forward with a sort of clamp, a polygraph-like tool that he started to squeeze 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 made contact.

The coach compressed, pulled, forced, measured, measured again, uttered indistinct words, pressed again and pinched my dermis and body fat. After each assessment point, he declared the metric reading he could gauge.

I had no clue what the values signified, if it was positive or negative. It took maybe just over a minute. An helper recorded the numbers into a document, and when all readings had been calculated, the file rapidly computed my total fat percentage. My value was declared, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

Why didn't I, or any other person, say anything?

Why didn't we rise and express what each person felt: that it was humiliating. If I had spoken out I would have at the same time executed my career's death sentence. If I had doubted or opposed the methods that Collina had implemented then I would have been denied any games, I'm certain of that.

Of course, I also wanted to become fitter, be lighter and achieve my objective, to become a world-class referee. It was evident you shouldn't be heavy, just as clear you should be fit – and certainly, maybe the complete roster of officials needed a professional upgrade. But it was improper to try to achieve that through a degrading weight check and an agenda where the primary focus was to shed pounds and minimise your body fat.

Our twice-yearly trainings thereafter followed the same pattern. Weight check, measurement of fat percentage, fitness exams, regulation quizzes, evaluation of rulings, team activities and then at the end a summary was provided. On a report, we all got data about our physical profile – indicators showing if we were going in the correct path (down) or wrong direction (up).

Body fat levels were classified into five tiers. An acceptable outcome was if you {belong