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I went to the basement, cleaned the weighing machine I had avoided for many years and observed the readout: 99.2kg. Over the past 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, filled with patience, tough decisions and priorities. But it was also the commencement of a transformation that slowly introduced stress, pressure and unease around the tests that the leadership had introduced.

You didn't just need to be a competent referee, it was also about prioritising diet, presenting as a premier referee, that the mass and fat percentages were correct, otherwise you risked being penalized, receiving less assignments and ending up in the cold.

When the officiating body was restructured during the summer of 2010, Pierluigi Collina brought in a number of changes. During the opening phase, there was an strong concentration on body shape, weigh-ins and body fat, and compulsory eyesight exams. Eyesight examinations might seem like a standard practice, but it had not been before. At the courses they not only examined basic things like being able to see fine print at a specific range, but also targeted assessments adapted for elite soccer officials.

Some umpires were identified as color deficient. Another was revealed as lacking vision in one eye and was forced to quit. At least that's what the whispers claimed, but nobody was certain – because regarding the outcomes of the eyesight exam, no information was shared in larger groups. For me, the eyesight exam was a reassurance. It indicated competence, meticulousness and a aim to improve.

Concerning tests of weight and fat percentage, however, I largely sensed revulsion, irritation and humiliation. It wasn't the assessments that were the problem, but the method of implementation.

The first time I was compelled to undergo the embarrassing ritual was in the fall of 2010 at our annual course. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the initial session, the referees were separated into three groups of about 15. When my group had walked into the spacious, cool meeting hall where we were to assemble, the leadership directed us to undress to our underclothes. We looked at each other, but everyone remained silent or ventured to speak.

We gradually removed our clothes. The evening before, we had been given explicit directions not to eat or drink in the morning but to be as devoid as we could when we were to participate in the examination. It was about showing minimal weight as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to look like a official 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, elite athletes, role models, grown-ups, family providers, assertive characters with great integrity … but no one said anything. We barely looked at each other, our gazes flickered a bit anxiously while we were invited in pairs. There the chief scrutinized us from top to bottom with an ice-cold look. Mute and watchful. We mounted the weighing machine one by one. I pulled in my stomach, adjusted my posture and stopped inhaling as if it would have an effect. One of the trainers clearly stated: "The Swedish official, 96.2 kilograms." I perceived how the boss hesitated, glanced my way and surveyed my nearly naked body. I thought to myself that this lacks respect. I'm an adult and forced to remain here and be examined and judged.

I descended from the weighing machine and it appeared as if I was standing in a fog. The identical trainer approached with a sort of clamp, a polygraph-like tool that he began to pinch me with on different parts of the body. The measuring tool, as the tool was called, was cold and I flinched a little every time it pressed against me.

The coach squeezed, pulled, applied pressure, measured, reassessed, spoke unclearly, reapplied force and compressed my skin and body fat. After each measurement area, he announced the measurement in mm he could gauge.

I had no idea what the numbers represented, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It required about a minute. An assistant recorded the values into a file, and when all measurements had been determined, the document rapidly computed my total fat percentage. My value was announced, for all to hear: "The official, 18.7 percent."

What prevented me from, or somebody else, say anything?

What stopped us from rise and express what everyone thought: that it was demeaning. If I had raised my voice I would have simultaneously executed my end of my officiating path. If I had challenged or resisted the procedures that the chief had implemented then I would have been denied any matches, I'm certain of that.

Of course, I also wanted to become in better shape, weigh less and attain my target, to become a world-class referee. It was clear you ought not to be heavy, equally obvious you ought to be in shape – and sure, maybe the complete roster of officials needed a professionalisation. But it was wrong to try to achieve that through a humiliating weigh-in and an plan where the key objective was to reduce mass and lower your adipose level.

Our twice-yearly trainings subsequently adhered to the same routine. Weigh-in, adipose evaluation, fitness exams, regulation quizzes, evaluation of rulings, collaborative exercises and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a document, we all got data about our body metrics – indicators showing if we were going in the right direction (down) or incorrect path (up).

Adipose measurements were classified into five categories. An satisfactory reading was if you {belong