🔗 Share this article

I went to the lower level, wiped the balance I had evaded for several years and observed the screen: 99.2kg. Throughout the previous eight years, I had dropped nearly 10kg. I had transformed from being a referee who was overweight and untrained to being light and fit. It had taken time, packed with patience, tough decisions and commitments. But it was also the start of a transformation that gradually meant stress, tension and disquiet around the examinations that the authorities had implemented.

You didn't just need to be a competent official, it was also about focusing on nutrition, looking like a top-level official, that the mass and adipose levels were right, otherwise you were in danger of being disciplined, receiving less assignments and landing in the wilderness.

When the officiating body was replaced during the summer of 2010, the head official introduced a number of changes. During the first year, there was an extreme focus on physical condition, weigh-ins and body fat, and required optical assessments. Optical checks might appear as a standard practice, but it hadn't been before. At the sessions they not only tested basic things like being able to see fine print at a certain distance, but also targeted assessments adapted for elite soccer officials.

Some officials were found to be unable to distinguish certain hues. Another turned out to be partially sighted and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the whispers claimed, but everyone was unsure – because concerning the outcomes of the vision test, no information was shared in larger groups. For me, the eyesight exam was a confidence boost. It demonstrated expertise, meticulousness and a goal to improve.

When it came to body mass examinations and body fat, however, I largely sensed revulsion, frustration and embarrassment. It wasn't the assessments that were the issue, but the method of implementation.

The first time I was compelled to undergo the humiliating procedure was in the late 2010 period at our regular session. We were in the Slovenian capital. On the initial session, the umpires were split into three teams of about 15. When my group had entered the big, chilly conference room where we were to assemble, the leadership urged us to undress to our intimate apparel. We looked at each other, but no one reacted or attempted to object.

We slowly took off our garments. The previous night, we had been given explicit directions not to eat or drink in the morning but to be as empty as we could when we were to take the assessment. It was about registering the lowest mass as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to look like a official should according to the model.

There we stood in a extended line, in just our underwear. We were Europe's best referees, professional competitors, inspirations, grown-ups, parents, strong personalities with great integrity … but nobody spoke. We scarcely glanced at each other, our eyes darted a bit nervously while we were invited two by two. There the boss observed us from top to bottom with an frigid gaze. Silent and observant. We stepped onto the scale singly. I contracted my stomach, straightened my back and ceased breathing as if it would have an effect. One of the coaches audibly declared: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I felt how Collina stopped, looked at me and scanned my partially unclothed body. I mused that this is not worthy. I'm an grown person and compelled to remain here and be examined and assessed.

I descended from the weighing machine and it felt like I was in a daze. The identical trainer advanced with a kind of pliers, a device similar to a truth machine that he began to pinch me with on different parts of the body. The measuring tool, as the tool was called, was chilly and I flinched a little every time it pressed against me.

The trainer compressed, drew, pressed, quantified, reassessed, spoke unclearly, reapplied force and pinched my epidermis and adipose tissue. After each test site, he declared the measurement in mm he could measure.

I had no understanding what the figures signified, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It required about a minute. An assistant inputted the figures into a record, and when all readings had been determined, the record swiftly determined my overall body fat. My value was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, 18.7%."

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

Why didn't we rise and state what everyone thought: that it was demeaning. If I had raised my voice I would have concurrently sealed my career's death sentence. If I had doubted or challenged the techniques that Collina had implemented then I wouldn't have got any matches, I'm certain of that.

Certainly, I also desired to become in better shape, be lighter and achieve my objective, to become a world-class referee. It was evident you ought not to be overweight, equally obvious you should be fit – and admittedly, maybe the whole officiating group demanded a professional upgrade. But it was improper to try to get there through a degrading weight check and an strategy where the primary focus was to reduce mass and reduce your fat percentage.

Our two annual courses subsequently maintained the same structure. Weight check, body fat assessment, fitness exams, rule tests, evaluation of rulings, collaborative exercises and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a file, we all got facts about our physical profile – pointers indicating if we were going in the correct path (down) or wrong direction (up).

Fat percentages were categorised into five groups. An acceptable outcome was if you {belong