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I went to the lower level, cleaned the weighing machine I had evaded for several years and observed the screen: 99.2kg. Over the past eight years, I had dropped nearly 10kg. I had transformed from being a referee who was bulky and unfit to being light and well trained. It had taken time, packed with patience, tough decisions and focus. But it was also the commencement of a change that slowly introduced pressure, pressure and discomfort around the tests that the leadership had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a skilled referee, it was also about prioritising diet, appearing as a top-level umpire, that the mass and fat percentages were appropriate, otherwise you risked being reprimanded, getting fewer matches and ending up in the cold.

When the refereeing organisation was overhauled during the summer of 2010, Pierluigi Collina introduced a set of modifications. During the first year, there was an extreme focus on physique, measurements of weight and adipose tissue, and mandatory vision tests. Vision tests might appear as a standard practice, but it hadn't been before. At the sessions they not only examined basic things like being able to read small text at a certain distance, but also more specific tests adapted for professional football referees.

Some officials were discovered as color deficient. Another proved to be lacking vision in one eye and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the gossip suggested, but everyone was unsure – because concerning the results of the vision test, details were withheld in extended assemblies. For me, the optical check was a confidence boost. It demonstrated professionalism, attention to detail and a goal to enhance.

Concerning body mass examinations and body fat, however, I mostly felt revulsion, frustration and embarrassment. It wasn't the tests that were the issue, but the method of implementation.

The initial occasion I was obliged to experience the embarrassing ritual was in the late 2010 period at our yearly training. We were in a European city. On the first morning, the officials were divided into three groups of about 15. When my team had entered the big, chilly meeting hall where we were to meet, the management urged us to strip down to our underclothes. We glanced around, but everyone remained silent or dared to say anything.

We slowly took off our attire. The evening before, we had received specific orders not to eat or drink in the morning but to be as empty 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 look like a official should according to the paradigm.

There we remained in a long row, in just our underclothes. We were the elite arbiters of European football, top sportsmen, role models, mature individuals, parents, strong personalities with strong ethics … but no one said anything. We hardly peered at each other, our looks shifted a bit nervously while we were invited two by two. There Collina examined us from head to toe with an chilling look. Quiet and attentive. We stepped on the weighing machine individually. I pulled in my stomach, stood erect and ceased breathing as if it would have an effect. One of the instructors clearly stated: "The Swedish official, 96.2 kilograms." I sensed how the chief stopped, glanced my way and scanned my nearly naked body. I thought to myself that this is not worthy. I'm an grown person and obliged to remain here and be examined and judged.

I descended from the scale and it felt like I was in a daze. The equivalent coach advanced with a kind of pliers, a instrument resembling a lie detector that he commenced pressing me with on various areas of the body. The measuring tool, as the device was called, was cool and I flinched a little every time it pressed against me.

The instructor pressed, drew, pressed, measured, rechecked, mumbled something inaudible, reapplied force and squeezed my epidermis and body fat. After each test site, he called out the measurement in mm he could assess.

I had no idea what the values stood for, if it was good or bad. It took maybe just over a minute. An helper recorded the numbers into a record, and when all four values had been calculated, the document quickly calculated my complete adipose level. My reading was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

What prevented me from, or any other person, voice an opinion?

What stopped us from get to our feet and express what each person felt: that it was humiliating. If I had raised my voice I would have at the same time signed my career's death sentence. If I had challenged or resisted the procedures that Collina had introduced then I would have been denied any matches, I'm certain of that.

Of course, I also wanted to become in better shape, reduce my mass and attain my target, to become a top-tier official. It was obvious you must not be above the ideal weight, equally obvious you should be in shape – and admittedly, maybe the entire referee corps needed a professional upgrade. But it was wrong to try to get there through a degrading weight check and an strategy where the primary focus was to shed pounds and lower your body fat.

Our biannual sessions subsequently maintained the same structure. Mass measurement, measurement of fat percentage, running tests, regulation quizzes, reviews of interpretations, team activities and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a document, we all got data about our fitness statistics – pointers indicating if we were going in the proper course (down) or wrong direction (up).

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