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I went to the cellar, cleaned the balance I had avoided for many years and looked at the display: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had transformed from being a official who was overweight and unfit to being lean and well trained. It had taken time, packed with persistence, hard calls and priorities. But it was also the beginning of a change that progressively brought pressure, tension and disquiet around the tests that the authorities had implemented.

You didn't just need to be a good umpire, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, appearing as a top-level umpire, that the body mass and fat percentages were appropriate, otherwise you were in danger of being penalized, getting fewer matches and ending up in the sidelines.

When the regulatory group was overhauled during the mid-2010 period, the head official brought in a set of modifications. During the opening phase, there was an extreme focus on body shape, body mass assessments and body fat, and required optical assessments. Vision tests might seem like a expected practice, but it hadn't been before. At the training programs they not only evaluated basic things like being able to read small text at a certain distance, but also targeted assessments adapted for professional football referees.

Some umpires were discovered as colour blind. Another turned out to be partially sighted and was forced to quit. At least that's what the rumours claimed, but no one knew for sure – because about the outcomes of the eyesight exam, details were withheld in big gatherings. For me, the optical check was a confidence boost. It demonstrated competence, thoroughness and a goal to get better.

Concerning weighing assessments and body fat, however, I mostly felt revulsion, frustration and embarrassment. It wasn't the assessments that were the issue, but the way they were conducted.

The initial occasion I was forced to endure the degrading process was in the late 2010 period at our yearly training. We were in the Slovenian capital. On the opening day, the umpires were split into three teams of about 15. When my group had walked into the big, chilly meeting hall where we were to meet, the supervisors directed us to remove our clothes to our intimate apparel. We exchanged glances, but no one reacted or ventured to speak.

We slowly took off our garments. The evening before, we had been given specific orders not to consume food or beverages in the morning but to be as devoid as we could when we were to undergo the test. It was about showing minimal weight as possible, and having as reduced adipose level as possible. And to resemble a official should according to the paradigm.

There we remained in a lengthy queue, in just our underwear. We were Europe's best referees, top sportsmen, role models, grown-ups, parents, confident individuals with strong ethics … but nobody spoke. We hardly peered at each other, our looks shifted a bit anxiously while we were invited in pairs. There the chief examined us from top to bottom with an ice-cold stare. Quiet and watchful. We mounted the balance individually. I pulled in my belly, stood erect and stopped inhaling as if it would have an effect. One of the coaches clearly stated: "The Swedish official, 96.2 kilograms." I felt how Collina paused, looked at me and inspected my nearly naked body. I thought to myself that this is undignified. I'm an adult and obliged to remain here and be evaluated and assessed.

I alighted from the scale and it felt like I was standing in a fog. The identical trainer came forward with a type of caliper, a polygraph-like tool that he started to squeeze me with on various areas of the body. The caliper, as the tool was called, was cold and I started a little every time it touched my body.

The trainer compressed, drew, forced, gauged, rechecked, spoke unclearly, reapplied force and compressed my epidermis and adipose tissue. After each assessment point, he called out the measurement in mm he could assess.

I had no understanding what the figures signified, if it was positive or negative. It required about a minute. An helper recorded the numbers into a record, and when all measurements had been established, the file swiftly determined my overall body fat. My value was announced, for all to hear: "The official, 18.7 percent."

What prevented me from, or somebody else, voice an opinion?

What stopped us from stand up and express what everyone thought: that it was degrading. If I had raised my voice I would have concurrently executed my professional demise. If I had questioned or opposed the methods that the chief had introduced then I would have been denied any fixtures, I'm certain of that.

Certainly, I also desired to become more athletic, be lighter and achieve my objective, to become a world-class referee. It was clear you must not be heavy, similarly apparent you ought to be fit – and certainly, maybe the entire referee corps demanded a standardization. But it was wrong to try to reach that level through a humiliating weigh-in and an plan where the primary focus was to reduce mass and reduce your adipose level.

Our two annual courses thereafter maintained the same structure. Mass measurement, measurement of fat percentage, fitness exams, laws of the game examinations, reviews of interpretations, group work and then at the end all would be recapped. On a document, we all got information about our body metrics – arrows indicating if we were going in the proper course (down) or incorrect path (up).

Adipose measurements were grouped into five tiers. An acceptable outcome was if you {belong