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I ventured to the cellar, dusted off the balance I had evaded for several years and looked at the screen: 99.2kg. Throughout the previous eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had evolved from being a referee who was overweight and untrained to being lean and fit. It had taken time, filled with persistence, tough decisions and focus. But it was also the commencement of a shift that gradually meant anxiety, tension and discomfort around the assessments that the authorities had implemented.

You didn't just need to be a competent official, it was also about prioritising diet, looking like a elite official, that the mass and adipose levels were right, otherwise you faced being penalized, getting fewer matches and finding yourself in the wilderness.

When the regulatory group was restructured during the mid-2010 period, the head official enacted a set of modifications. During the opening phase, there was an intense emphasis on physique, measurements of weight and adipose tissue, and compulsory eyesight exams. Eyesight examinations might sound like a given practice, but it had not been before. At the training programs they not only examined elementary factors like being able to read small text at a specific range, but also more specific tests designed for top-level match arbiters.

Some officials were discovered as color deficient. Another was revealed as blind in one eye and was obliged to retire. At least that's what the rumours claimed, but nobody was certain – because about the outcomes of the eyesight exam, no information was shared in big gatherings. For me, the optical check was a comfort. It indicated expertise, meticulousness and a aim to enhance.

Concerning body mass examinations and adipose measurement, however, I primarily experienced aversion, anger and embarrassment. It wasn't the examinations that were the difficulty, but the manner of execution.

The opening instance I was compelled to undergo the embarrassing ritual was in the late 2010 period at our yearly training. We were in the Slovenian capital. On the opening day, the officials were separated into three groups of about 15. When my group had entered the large, cold assembly area where we were to meet, the supervisors instructed us to strip down to our underwear. We exchanged glances, but everyone remained silent or ventured to speak.

We slowly took off our clothes. The prior evening, we had obtained clear instructions 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 registering the lowest mass as possible, and having as reduced adipose level as possible. And to resemble a official should according to the paradigm.

There we stood in a extended line, in just our intimate apparel. We were the elite arbiters of European football, top sportsmen, role models, adults, family providers, assertive characters with high principles … but everyone remained mute. We barely looked at each other, our eyes darted a bit apprehensively while we were called forward as duos. There the chief scrutinized us from completely with an frigid stare. Quiet and observant. We stepped onto the scale one by one. I contracted my belly, stood erect and ceased breathing as if it would change the outcome. One of the trainers loudly announced: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I sensed how the boss stopped, looked at me and scanned my nearly naked body. I reflected that this is not worthy. I'm an adult and obliged to stand here and be examined and critiqued.

I alighted from the weighing machine and it appeared as if I was standing in a fog. The same instructor came forward with a type of caliper, a instrument resembling a lie detector that he began to pinch me with on assorted regions of the body. The pinching instrument, as the instrument was called, was cold and I flinched a little every time it pressed against me.

The trainer squeezed, tugged, forced, gauged, rechecked, mumbled something inaudible, pressed again and squeezed my skin and fatty deposits. After each test site, he announced the number of millimetres he could measure.

I had no idea what the values represented, if it was good or bad. It lasted approximately a minute. An helper inputted the numbers into a file, and when all readings had been calculated, the record rapidly computed my complete adipose level. My reading was proclaimed, for all to hear: "Eriksson, 18.7%."

What prevented me from, or somebody else, speak up?

Why couldn't we stand up and state what all were thinking: that it was humiliating. If I had raised my voice I would have simultaneously executed my career's death sentence. If I had challenged or opposed the methods that the boss had introduced then I would not have received any games, I'm convinced of that.

Of course, I also desired to become fitter, reduce my mass and achieve my objective, to become a elite arbiter. It was clear you shouldn't be above the ideal weight, similarly apparent you should be in shape – and admittedly, maybe the complete roster of officials needed a professional upgrade. But it was wrong to try to get there through a embarrassing mass assessment and an strategy where the most important thing was to shed pounds and lower your adipose level.

Our twice-yearly trainings subsequently followed the same pattern. Weigh-in, adipose evaluation, endurance assessments, regulation quizzes, analysis of decisions, collaborative exercises and then at the end a summary was provided. On a file, we all got information about our fitness statistics – indicators pointing if we were going in the right direction (down) or wrong direction (up).

Fat percentages were classified into five tiers. An satisfactory reading was if you {belong