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I descended to the basement, dusted off the balance I had evaded for several years and looked at the display: 99.2kg. Throughout the previous eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had evolved from being a referee who was heavy and unfit to being lean and fit. It had required effort, full of patience, hard calls and commitments. But it was also the beginning of a shift that progressively brought anxiety, pressure and unease around the tests that the top management had introduced.

You didn't just need to be a skilled official, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, presenting as a premier referee, that the body mass and adipose levels were right, otherwise you risked being disciplined, receiving less assignments and ending up in the wilderness.

When the refereeing organisation was replaced during the mid-2010 period, Pierluigi Collina enacted a set of modifications. During the initial period, there was an extreme focus on physique, measurements of weight and body fat, and compulsory eyesight exams. Optical checks might sound like a expected practice, but it had not been before. At the training programs they not only examined elementary factors like being able to see fine print at a certain distance, but also specialized examinations tailored to professional football referees.

Some officials were found to be unable to distinguish certain hues. Another was revealed as blind in one eye and was forced to quit. At least that's what the gossip suggested, but everyone was unsure – because about the outcomes of the eyesight exam, no information was shared in big gatherings. For me, the eyesight exam was a comfort. It indicated professionalism, meticulousness and a desire to improve.

When it came to body mass examinations and adipose measurement, however, I largely sensed revulsion, anger and degradation. It wasn't the tests that were the problem, but the method of implementation.

The first time I was obliged to experience the embarrassing ritual was in the fall of 2010 at our annual course. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the opening day, the referees were separated into three teams of about 15. When my group had stepped into the spacious, cool conference room where we were to gather, the supervisors instructed us to remove our clothes to our underwear. We exchanged glances, but nobody responded or dared to say anything.

We carefully shed our clothes. The prior evening, we had been given specific orders not to have any nourishment in the morning but to be as depleted as we could when we were to participate in the examination. It was about showing minimal weight as possible, and having as reduced adipose level as possible. And to resemble a referee should according to the model.

There we were positioned in a extended line, in just our intimate apparel. We were Europe's best referees, professional competitors, inspirations, adults, family providers, assertive characters with high principles … but no one said anything. We barely looked at each other, our looks shifted a bit anxiously while we were summoned two by two. There Collina scrutinized us from completely with an frigid look. Mute and watchful. We stepped on the scale singly. I pulled in my belly, adjusted my posture and held my breath as if it would have an effect. One of the coaches loudly announced: "Eriksson from Sweden, 96.2kg." I perceived how Collina paused, observed me and scanned my almost bare body. I thought to myself that this is not worthy. I'm an mature individual and obliged to remain here and be evaluated and critiqued.

I alighted from the weighing machine and it seemed like I was standing in a fog. The identical trainer approached with a sort of clamp, a instrument resembling a lie detector that he started to squeeze me with on assorted regions of the body. The caliper, as the device was called, was cool and I flinched a little every time it touched my body.

The instructor pressed, drew, applied pressure, measured, rechecked, mumbled something inaudible, pressed again and pinched my epidermis and fatty deposits. After each test site, he declared the metric reading he could measure.

I had no clue what the values represented, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It lasted approximately a minute. An aide entered the values into a file, and when all measurements had been established, the document rapidly computed my overall body fat. My value was declared, for all to hear: "Eriksson, 18.7%."

Why didn't I, or somebody else, voice an opinion?

What stopped us from get to our feet and express what all were thinking: that it was humiliating. If I had raised my voice I would have concurrently executed my career's death sentence. If I had questioned or challenged the techniques that Collina had implemented then I would have been denied any games, I'm convinced of that.

Certainly, I also aimed to become fitter, weigh less and achieve my objective, to become a top-tier official. It was obvious you must not be above the ideal weight, similarly apparent you must be conditioned – and certainly, maybe the entire referee corps needed a professionalisation. But it was wrong to try to achieve that through a degrading weight check and an plan where the key objective was to shed pounds and reduce your adipose level.

Our twice-yearly trainings subsequently adhered to the same routine. Weigh-in, body fat assessment, running tests, laws of the game examinations, reviews of interpretations, team activities and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a report, we all got facts about our fitness statistics – pointers indicating if we were going in the correct path (down) or improper course (up).

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