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I descended to the lower level, dusted off the scales I had avoided for many years and looked at the screen: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had evolved from being a umpire who was heavy and unfit to being light and conditioned. It had demanded dedication, packed with persistence, difficult choices and priorities. But it was also the beginning of a shift that slowly introduced pressure, pressure and unease around the examinations that the authorities had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a skilled official, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, appearing as a premier umpire, that the body mass and adipose levels were right, otherwise you were in danger of being reprimanded, receiving less assignments and landing in the wilderness.

When the refereeing organisation was replaced during the 2010 summer season, the leading figure brought in a number of changes. During the first year, there was an intense emphasis on body shape, weigh-ins and fat percentage, and compulsory eyesight exams. Eyesight examinations might appear as a standard practice, but it had not been before. At the training programs they not only evaluated basic things like being able to read small text at a specific range, but also more specific tests designed for professional football referees.

Some officials were identified as color deficient. Another was revealed as blind in one eye and was obliged to retire. At least that's what the gossip said, but nobody was certain – because regarding the outcomes of the eyesight exam, no information was shared in big gatherings. For me, the vision test was a comfort. It indicated expertise, thoroughness and a goal to improve.

Concerning weighing assessments and body fat, however, I mostly felt disgust, anger and embarrassment. It wasn't the tests that were the issue, but the method of implementation.

The first time I was forced to endure the embarrassing ritual was in the autumn of 2010 at our yearly training. We were in a European city. On the first morning, the umpires were split into three units of about 15. When my group had stepped into the spacious, cool assembly area where we were to assemble, the supervisors directed us to remove our clothes to our underclothes. We exchanged glances, but nobody responded or dared to say anything.

We gradually removed our garments. The evening before, 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 weighing as little as possible, and having as reduced adipose level as possible. And to appear as a official should according to the standard.

There we were positioned in a long row, in just our intimate apparel. We were Europe's best referees, top sportsmen, exemplars, mature individuals, parents, strong personalities with great integrity … but nobody spoke. We hardly peered at each other, our looks shifted a bit anxiously while we were summoned two by two. There Collina scrutinized us from top to bottom with an frigid look. Silent and watchful. We mounted the scale singly. I pulled in my stomach, adjusted my posture and stopped inhaling as if it would have an effect. One of the coaches loudly announced: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I perceived how the boss hesitated, looked at me and scanned my nearly naked body. I mused that this is not worthy. I'm an mature individual and obliged to be here and be examined and critiqued.

I descended from the weighing machine and it appeared as if I was disoriented. The same instructor approached with a kind of pliers, a instrument resembling a lie detector that he commenced pressing me with on assorted regions of the body. The caliper, as the tool was called, was cool and I jumped a little every time it touched my body.

The trainer pressed, drew, pressed, gauged, reassessed, mumbled something inaudible, squeezed once more and compressed my dermis and adipose tissue. After each assessment point, he called out the number of millimetres he could measure.

I had no understanding what the figures stood for, if it was good or bad. It took maybe just over a minute. An assistant entered the values into a record, and when all four values had been determined, the record quickly calculated my total fat percentage. My value was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, 18.7%."

Why did I not, or any other person, say anything?

What stopped us from get to our feet and express what each person felt: that it was demeaning. If I had voiced my concerns I would have concurrently sealed my career's death sentence. If I had questioned or challenged the procedures that Collina had introduced then I would have been denied any games, I'm convinced of that.

Certainly, I also wanted to become in better shape, reduce my mass and reach my goal, to become a world-class referee. It was obvious you must not be above the ideal weight, just as clear you must be conditioned – and certainly, maybe the whole officiating group required a professional upgrade. But it was incorrect to try to achieve that through a degrading weight check and an plan where the key objective was to lose weight and reduce your adipose level.

Our biannual sessions after that adhered to the same routine. Weigh-in, body fat assessment, fitness exams, laws of the game examinations, reviews of interpretations, team activities and then at the end all would be recapped. On a document, we all got facts about our fitness statistics – pointers indicating if we were going in the correct path (down) or wrong direction (up).

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