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I ventured to the lower level, cleaned the balance I had avoided for many years and glanced at the screen: 99.2kg. Over the past eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a referee who was overweight and out of shape to being light and well trained. It had demanded dedication, full of determination, hard calls and focus. But it was also the commencement of a shift that slowly introduced pressure, strain 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 top-level official, that the weight and fat percentages were correct, otherwise you risked being disciplined, getting fewer matches and landing in the wilderness.

When the officiating body was overhauled during the mid-2010 period, Pierluigi Collina enacted a series of reforms. During the initial period, there was an strong concentration on body shape, measurements of weight and adipose tissue, and required optical assessments. Vision tests might seem like a expected practice, but it had not been before. At the training programs they not only evaluated fundamental aspects like being able to decipher tiny letters at a certain distance, but also more specific tests tailored to professional football referees.

Some referees were discovered as unable to distinguish certain hues. Another proved to be partially sighted and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the rumours claimed, but everyone was unsure – because about the findings of the eyesight exam, nothing was revealed in extended assemblies. For me, the eyesight exam was a comfort. It demonstrated competence, meticulousness and a desire to improve.

Concerning tests of weight and body fat, however, I mostly felt disgust, frustration and degradation. It wasn't the assessments that were the issue, but the way they were conducted.

The first time I was obliged to experience the embarrassing ritual was in the autumn of 2010 at our yearly training. We were in a European city. On the opening day, the referees were divided into three teams of about 15. When my team had walked into the big, chilly assembly area where we were to meet, the management urged us to undress to our underwear. We exchanged glances, but nobody responded or attempted to object.

We gradually removed our clothes. The prior evening, we had been given explicit directions not to have any nourishment in the morning but to be as depleted as we could when we were to undergo the test. It was about weighing as little as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to look like a official should according to the paradigm.

There we remained in a lengthy queue, in just our underclothes. We were Europe's best referees, elite athletes, inspirations, adults, caregivers, strong personalities with strong ethics … but no one said anything. We scarcely glanced at each other, our looks shifted a bit apprehensively while we were invited as duos. There the boss examined us from top to bottom with an chilling gaze. Silent and observant. We stepped onto the balance singly. I sucked in my belly, adjusted my posture and stopped inhaling as if it would change the outcome. One of the instructors clearly stated: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I sensed how the boss stopped, looked at me and inspected my almost bare body. I thought to myself that this is undignified. I'm an grown person and obliged to stand here and be inspected and judged.

I descended from the balance and it appeared as if I was standing in a fog. The equivalent coach advanced with a type of caliper, a device similar to a truth machine that he commenced pressing me with on various areas of the body. The caliper, as the tool was called, was cold and I jumped a little every time it made contact.

The instructor squeezed, tugged, forced, quantified, reassessed, mumbled something inaudible, pressed again and compressed my skin and adipose tissue. After each test site, he announced the metric reading he could gauge.

I had no understanding what the values stood for, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It required about a minute. An assistant recorded the numbers into a record, and when all readings had been determined, the record swiftly determined my complete adipose level. My result was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

Why didn't I, or anyone else, say anything?

What stopped us from stand up and state what each person felt: that it was degrading. If I had voiced my concerns I would have at the same time executed my end of my officiating path. If I had doubted or opposed the methods that Collina had introduced then I wouldn't have got any matches, I'm convinced of that.

Naturally, I also desired to become fitter, weigh less and attain my target, to become a elite arbiter. It was obvious you shouldn't be above the ideal weight, similarly apparent you must be conditioned – and admittedly, maybe the entire referee corps required a professionalisation. But it was improper to try to get there through a degrading weight check and an agenda where the key objective was to lose weight and reduce your fat percentage.

Our twice-yearly trainings thereafter followed the same pattern. Mass measurement, measurement of fat percentage, endurance assessments, laws of the game examinations, analysis of decisions, group work and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a document, we all got facts about our body metrics – pointers pointing if we were going in the right direction (down) or wrong direction (up).

Fat percentages were categorised into five tiers. An approved result was if you {belong