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I ventured to the lower level, wiped the weighing machine I had shunned for many years and looked at the display: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had dropped nearly 10kg. I had transformed from being a referee who was heavy and untrained to being slender and conditioned. It had required effort, packed with patience, hard calls and commitments. But it was also the beginning of a transformation that progressively brought stress, pressure and unease around the examinations that the leadership had introduced.

You didn't just need to be a competent referee, it was also about prioritising diet, appearing as a top-level referee, that the body mass and fat percentages were correct, otherwise you risked being reprimanded, being allocated fewer games and finding yourself in the wilderness.

When the regulatory group was replaced during the 2010 summer season, Pierluigi Collina enacted a number of changes. During the opening phase, there was an extreme focus on body shape, weigh-ins and fat percentage, and compulsory eyesight exams. Optical checks might sound like a given practice, but it hadn't been before. At the courses they not only tested basic things like being able to read small text at a particular length, but also targeted assessments tailored to top-level match arbiters.

Some umpires were identified as colour blind. Another turned out to be blind in one eye and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the whispers suggested, but nobody was certain – because concerning the outcomes of the vision test, nothing was revealed in larger groups. For me, the eyesight exam was a confidence boost. It indicated expertise, thoroughness and a aim to enhance.

Concerning tests of weight and fat percentage, however, I largely sensed aversion, irritation and degradation. It wasn't the examinations that were the issue, but the manner of execution.

The opening instance I was forced to endure the degrading process was in the autumn of 2010 at our annual course. We were in a European city. On the first morning, the umpires were split into three teams of about 15. When my unit had walked into the big, chilly assembly area where we were to gather, the management directed us to undress to our underclothes. We exchanged glances, but no one reacted or ventured to speak.

We slowly took off our garments. The prior evening, we had obtained explicit directions not to have any nourishment in the morning but to be as devoid as we could when we were to undergo the test. It was about showing minimal weight as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to resemble a umpire should according to the paradigm.

There we stood in a lengthy queue, in just our underwear. We were the elite arbiters of European football, top sportsmen, role models, adults, caregivers, confident individuals with great integrity … but everyone remained mute. We hardly peered at each other, our gazes flickered a bit anxiously while we were summoned as duos. There the chief observed us from completely with an chilling look. Mute and observant. We mounted the balance individually. I sucked in my stomach, straightened my back and stopped inhaling as if it would make any difference. One of the coaches clearly stated: "The Swedish official, 96.2 kilograms." I sensed how the boss hesitated, looked at me and scanned my nearly naked body. I mused that this lacks respect. I'm an mature individual and obliged to be here and be evaluated and assessed.

I stepped off the scale and it seemed like I was standing in a fog. The identical trainer came forward with a sort of clamp, a instrument resembling a lie detector that he began to pinch me with on various areas of the body. The pinching instrument, as the tool was called, was cool and I flinched a little every time it touched my body.

The instructor squeezed, drew, applied pressure, measured, rechecked, spoke unclearly, reapplied force and squeezed my epidermis and adipose tissue. After each assessment point, he announced the measurement in mm he could assess.

I had no idea what the figures represented, if it was positive or negative. It required about a minute. An assistant inputted the numbers into a record, and when all four values had been calculated, the record swiftly determined my overall body fat. My reading was proclaimed, for all to hear: "The official, 18.7 percent."

What prevented me from, or any other person, speak up?

Why couldn't we rise and say what all were thinking: that it was demeaning. If I had spoken out I would have concurrently executed my professional demise. If I had challenged or opposed the procedures that the boss had enforced then I wouldn't have got any games, I'm certain of that.

Certainly, I also desired to become fitter, be lighter and attain my target, to become a elite arbiter. It was evident you must not be heavy, similarly apparent you ought to be conditioned – and admittedly, maybe the complete roster of officials demanded a standardization. But it was improper to try to reach that level through a embarrassing mass assessment and an agenda where the primary focus was to lose weight and minimise your body fat.

Our two annual courses subsequently maintained the same structure. Weight check, measurement of fat percentage, fitness exams, laws of the game examinations, analysis of decisions, group work and then at the end all would be recapped. On a report, we all got facts about our physical profile – indicators showing if we were going in the proper course (down) or wrong direction (up).

Body fat levels were grouped into five categories. An acceptable outcome was if you {belong