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I went to the basement, dusted off the balance I had evaded for a long time and observed the screen: 99.2kg. Over the past eight years, I had dropped nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a umpire who was bulky and out of shape to being slender and conditioned. It had taken time, packed with determination, tough decisions and priorities. But it was also the commencement of a transformation that slowly introduced anxiety, tension and unease around the assessments that the leadership had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a good official, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, presenting as a elite official, that the weight and adipose levels were correct, otherwise you risked being disciplined, receiving less assignments and ending up in the sidelines.

When the refereeing organisation was overhauled during the mid-2010 period, the leading figure enacted a number of changes. During the opening phase, there was an extreme focus on body shape, weigh-ins and adipose tissue, and compulsory eyesight exams. Vision tests might sound like a standard practice, but it wasn't previously before. At the training programs they not only examined fundamental aspects like being able to read small text at a specific range, but also more specific tests tailored to elite soccer officials.

Some referees were found to be colour blind. Another turned out to be partially sighted and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the whispers suggested, but everyone was unsure – because regarding the findings of the eyesight exam, nothing was revealed in larger groups. For me, the optical check was a reassurance. It signalled competence, meticulousness and a desire to get better.

When it came to tests of weight and adipose measurement, however, I mostly felt disgust, anger and embarrassment. It wasn't the assessments that were the problem, but the manner of execution.

The initial occasion I was compelled to undergo the embarrassing ritual was in the late 2010 period at our annual course. We were in a European city. On the first morning, the umpires were divided into three units of about 15. When my unit had stepped into the big, chilly assembly area where we were to meet, the management instructed us to remove our clothes to our underclothes. We glanced around, but everyone remained silent or dared to say anything.

We gradually removed our garments. The previous night, we had been given explicit directions not to have any nourishment in the morning but to be as empty as we could when we were to take the assessment. 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 remained in a lengthy queue, in just our underwear. We were the elite arbiters of European football, elite athletes, inspirations, mature individuals, caregivers, confident individuals with strong ethics … but nobody spoke. We scarcely glanced at each other, our eyes darted a bit nervously while we were summoned two by two. There Collina observed us from head to toe with an chilling gaze. Silent and watchful. We stepped on the weighing machine one by one. I pulled in my stomach, stood erect and held my breath as if it would change the outcome. One of the trainers loudly announced: "The Swedish official, 96.2 kilograms." I perceived how Collina stopped, observed me and inspected my almost bare body. I thought to myself that this is undignified. I'm an mature individual and obliged to be here and be examined and critiqued.

I alighted from the weighing machine and it felt like I was in a daze. The same instructor approached with a sort of clamp, a instrument resembling a lie detector that he started to squeeze me with on different parts of the body. The caliper, as the tool was called, was cold and I jumped a little every time it made contact.

The coach squeezed, drew, forced, measured, reassessed, mumbled something inaudible, reapplied force and squeezed my dermis and adipose tissue. After each test site, he called out the metric reading he could assess.

I had no clue what the values represented, if it was good or bad. It lasted approximately a minute. An assistant entered the values into a document, and when all measurements had been calculated, the document rapidly computed my overall body fat. My value was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

Why did I not, or somebody else, say anything?

Why couldn't we rise and say what each person felt: that it was humiliating. If I had spoken out I would have at the same time executed my end of my officiating path. If I had doubted or challenged the procedures that Collina had implemented then I would not have received any games, I'm convinced of that.

Certainly, I also aimed to become in better shape, be lighter and attain my target, to become a world-class referee. It was obvious you must not be above the ideal weight, similarly apparent you should be conditioned – and certainly, maybe the complete roster of officials required a professionalisation. But it was wrong to try to reach that level through a embarrassing mass assessment and an agenda where the primary focus was to lose weight and lower your body fat.

Our biannual sessions thereafter adhered to the same routine. Mass measurement, measurement of fat percentage, fitness exams, rule tests, evaluation of rulings, group work and then at the end all would be recapped. On a report, we all got data about our fitness statistics – pointers showing if we were going in the proper course (down) or improper course (up).

Adipose measurements were classified into five tiers. An approved result was if you {belong