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I descended to the basement, wiped the balance I had shunned for a long time and observed the screen: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had shed nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a referee who was overweight and untrained to being lean and fit. It had required effort, filled with determination, difficult choices and focus. But it was also the commencement of a transformation that progressively brought anxiety, tension and disquiet around the tests that the top management had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a good referee, it was also about focusing on nutrition, presenting as a top-level official, that the mass and body fat were correct, otherwise you faced being disciplined, getting fewer matches and finding yourself in the sidelines.

When the officiating body was overhauled during the summer of 2010, the leading figure enacted a set of modifications. During the first year, there was an extreme focus on physical condition, body mass assessments and body fat, and compulsory eyesight exams. Eyesight examinations might appear as a standard practice, but it hadn't been before. At the courses they not only examined basic things like being able to decipher tiny letters at a specific range, but also specialized examinations adapted for professional football referees.

Some officials were discovered as color deficient. Another proved to be blind in one eye and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the gossip claimed, but nobody was certain – because concerning the findings of the vision test, no information was shared in larger groups. For me, the optical check was a reassurance. It demonstrated professionalism, meticulousness and a goal to improve.

Concerning body mass examinations and body fat, however, I mostly felt aversion, anger and degradation. It wasn't the examinations that were the problem, but the way they were conducted.

The first time I was compelled to undergo the embarrassing ritual was in the late 2010 period at our annual course. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the first morning, the umpires were split into three units of about 15. When my unit had stepped into the big, chilly conference room where we were to assemble, the supervisors directed us to remove our clothes to our intimate apparel. We glanced around, but everyone remained silent or dared to say anything.

We gradually removed our clothes. The previous night, we had received clear instructions not to consume food or beverages in the morning but to be as empty as we could when we were to undergo the test. It was about registering the lowest mass as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to resemble a official should according to the paradigm.

There we were positioned in a long row, in just our underclothes. We were Europe's best referees, professional competitors, role models, mature individuals, parents, confident individuals with great integrity … but no one said anything. We hardly peered at each other, our looks shifted a bit apprehensively while we were called forward as duos. There Collina scrutinized us from head to toe with an ice-cold stare. Silent and attentive. We mounted the scale individually. I pulled in my stomach, straightened my back and held my breath as if it would change the outcome. One of the trainers clearly stated: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I perceived how Collina stopped, glanced my way and surveyed my almost bare body. I thought to myself that this is not worthy. I'm an mature individual and forced to stand here and be inspected and judged.

I alighted from the balance and it appeared as if I was disoriented. The identical trainer came forward with a kind of pliers, a device similar to a truth machine that he began to pinch me with on assorted regions of the body. The caliper, as the device was called, was cool and I flinched a little every time it made contact.

The trainer compressed, tugged, applied pressure, measured, reassessed, mumbled something inaudible, reapplied force and compressed my skin and adipose tissue. After each measurement area, he declared the measurement in mm he could assess.

I had no idea what the figures stood for, if it was positive or negative. It lasted approximately a minute. An aide inputted the values into a record, and when all four values had been established, the document swiftly determined my overall body fat. My reading was proclaimed, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

Why did I not, or somebody else, voice an opinion?

Why didn't we get to our feet and state what each person felt: that it was degrading. If I had raised my voice I would have simultaneously sealed my end of my officiating path. If I had questioned or challenged the procedures that the chief had implemented then I would not have received any matches, I'm convinced of that.

Of course, I also desired to become in better shape, reduce my mass and achieve my objective, to become a elite arbiter. It was obvious you must not be overweight, equally obvious you should be fit – and sure, maybe the entire referee corps demanded a professional upgrade. But it was incorrect to try to achieve that through a humiliating weigh-in and an strategy where the key objective was to shed pounds and minimise your body fat.

Our twice-yearly trainings subsequently adhered to the same routine. Mass measurement, body fat assessment, running tests, laws of the game examinations, evaluation of rulings, team activities and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a document, we all got data about our fitness statistics – arrows indicating if we were going in the right direction (down) or incorrect path (up).

Body fat levels were classified into five categories. An satisfactory reading was if you {belong