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I ventured to the basement, wiped the balance I had evaded for several years and glanced at the readout: 99.2kg. Throughout the previous eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had evolved from being a official who was overweight and out of shape to being lean and conditioned. It had required effort, packed with patience, hard calls and focus. But it was also the beginning of a change that gradually meant pressure, pressure and discomfort around the tests that the top management had implemented.

You didn't just need to be a good official, it was also about focusing on nutrition, appearing as a premier umpire, that the weight and fat percentages were correct, otherwise you risked being reprimanded, getting fewer matches and finding yourself in the cold.

When the regulatory group was replaced during the 2010 summer season, Pierluigi Collina introduced a series of reforms. During the first year, there was an strong concentration on physique, measurements of weight and fat percentage, and mandatory vision tests. Vision tests might appear as a expected practice, but it hadn't been before. At the sessions they not only tested basic things like being able to read small text at a specific range, but also more specific tests adapted for professional football referees.

Some officials were discovered as unable to distinguish certain hues. Another proved to be lacking vision in one eye and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the rumours suggested, but nobody was certain – because concerning the outcomes of the optical assessment, no information was shared in big gatherings. For me, the eyesight exam was a confidence boost. It indicated professionalism, attention to detail and a goal to improve.

Concerning weighing assessments and fat percentage, however, I largely sensed disgust, frustration and embarrassment. It wasn't the assessments that were the difficulty, but the way they were conducted.

The initial occasion I was compelled to undergo the degrading process was in the late 2010 period at our regular session. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the initial session, the officials were separated into three units of about 15. When my group had walked into the large, cold meeting hall where we were to assemble, the management urged us to remove our clothes to our underwear. We glanced around, but no one reacted or attempted to object.

We carefully shed our garments. The evening before, we had been given explicit directions not to have any nourishment in the morning but to be as devoid as we could when we were to take the assessment. It was about showing minimal weight as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to appear as a referee should according to the model.

There we remained in a long row, in just our underwear. We were the elite arbiters of European football, top sportsmen, inspirations, adults, caregivers, assertive characters with great integrity … but no one said anything. We barely looked at each other, our eyes darted a bit nervously while we were invited as duos. There Collina scrutinized us from top to bottom with an frigid look. Silent and observant. We stepped onto the balance individually. I contracted my belly, stood erect and held my breath as if it would change the outcome. One of the instructors audibly declared: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I felt how the chief hesitated, looked at me and scanned my almost bare body. I mused that this is not worthy. I'm an adult and obliged to stand here and be examined and judged.

I descended from the balance and it felt like I was in a daze. The equivalent coach advanced with a type of caliper, a device similar to a truth machine that he commenced pressing me with on different parts of the body. The pinching instrument, as the tool was called, was chilly and I flinched a little every time it made contact.

The coach pressed, pulled, pressed, measured, measured again, mumbled something inaudible, reapplied force and pinched my epidermis and body fat. After each measurement area, he announced the measurement in mm he could gauge.

I had no idea what the figures represented, if it was good or bad. It required about a minute. An assistant recorded the figures into a document, and when all measurements had been established, the record rapidly computed my complete adipose level. My reading was proclaimed, for all to hear: "The official, 18.7 percent."

Why didn't I, or anyone else, voice an opinion?

Why couldn't we stand up and say 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 challenged or resisted the methods that Collina had introduced then I wouldn't have got any fixtures, I'm convinced of that.

Certainly, I also aimed to become fitter, be lighter and achieve my objective, to become a world-class referee. It was obvious you ought not to be heavy, equally obvious you should be in shape – and certainly, maybe the complete roster of officials needed a professionalisation. But it was wrong to try to get there through a degrading weight check and an plan where the primary focus was to shed pounds and minimise your adipose level.

Our two annual courses subsequently adhered to the same routine. Weigh-in, body fat assessment, endurance assessments, laws of the game examinations, evaluation of rulings, team activities and then at the end a summary was provided. On a file, we all got data about our body metrics – indicators showing if we were going in the proper course (down) or incorrect path (up).

Adipose measurements were classified into five categories. An satisfactory reading was if you {belong