Diary of a Umpire: 'The Chief Scrutinized Our Half-Naked Bodies with an Ice-Cold Gaze'

I went to the lower level, wiped the scales I had avoided for a long time and looked at the screen: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a umpire who was overweight and unfit to being light and conditioned. It had required effort, packed with persistence, difficult choices and focus. But it was also the start of a shift that slowly introduced stress, strain and discomfort around the examinations that the authorities had implemented.

You didn't just need to be a skilled referee, it was also about prioritising diet, presenting as a elite umpire, that the body mass and adipose levels were correct, otherwise you risked being disciplined, receiving less assignments and ending up in the cold.

When the regulatory group was restructured during the 2010 summer season, Pierluigi Collina brought in a set of modifications. During the initial period, there was an intense emphasis on physical condition, measurements of weight and adipose tissue, and required optical assessments. Optical checks might sound like a given practice, but it had not been before. At the sessions they not only examined fundamental aspects like being able to decipher tiny letters at a specific range, but also specialized examinations tailored to professional football referees.

Some referees were identified as unable to distinguish certain hues. Another was revealed as lacking vision in one eye and was forced to quit. At least that's what the gossip suggested, but everyone was unsure – because concerning the results of the optical assessment, no information was shared in big gatherings. For me, the eyesight exam was a reassurance. It demonstrated expertise, meticulousness and a desire to get better.

When it came to weighing assessments and fat percentage, however, I mostly felt disgust, irritation and embarrassment. It wasn't the tests that were the difficulty, but the method of implementation.

The opening instance I was obliged to experience the degrading process was in the fall of 2010 at our annual course. We were in the Slovenian capital. On the opening day, the umpires were separated into three units of about 15. When my group had entered the large, cold assembly area where we were to meet, the supervisors directed us to strip down to our underclothes. We exchanged glances, but nobody responded or dared to say anything.

We gradually removed our garments. The evening before, we had received specific orders not to consume food or beverages in the morning but to be as depleted as we could when we were to take the assessment. It was about weighing as little as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to appear as a official should according to the model.

There we were positioned in a extended line, in just our intimate apparel. We were the continent's top officials, top sportsmen, exemplars, adults, caregivers, assertive characters with great integrity … but everyone remained mute. We barely looked at each other, our gazes flickered a bit nervously while we were invited as duos. There the boss examined us from top to bottom with an chilling gaze. Silent and attentive. We stepped on the balance one by one. I sucked in my stomach, stood erect and stopped inhaling as if it would change the outcome. One of the coaches loudly announced: "Eriksson from Sweden, 96.2kg." I perceived how the boss stopped, looked at me and inspected my partially unclothed body. I thought to myself that this is not worthy. I'm an adult and compelled to stand here and be evaluated and critiqued.

I descended from the scale and it appeared as if I was standing in a fog. The equivalent coach advanced with a kind of pliers, a polygraph-like tool 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 jumped a little every time it pressed against me.

The trainer compressed, drew, pressed, measured, measured again, uttered indistinct words, squeezed once more and pinched my dermis and fatty deposits. After each measurement area, he declared the measurement in mm he could gauge.

I had no clue what the numbers signified, if it was positive or negative. It took maybe just over a minute. An aide inputted the values into a record, and when all readings had been calculated, the record rapidly computed my total fat percentage. My reading was declared, for all to hear: "Eriksson, 18.7%."

Why didn't I, or somebody else, say anything?

Why didn't we get to our feet and express what everyone thought: that it was degrading. If I had spoken out I would have simultaneously signed my professional demise. If I had doubted or opposed the techniques that the boss had implemented then I would not have received any fixtures, I'm convinced of that.

Of course, I also wanted to become fitter, be lighter and reach my goal, to become a world-class referee. It was obvious you ought not to be overweight, similarly apparent you ought to be conditioned – and certainly, maybe the whole officiating group demanded a professionalisation. But it was incorrect to try to get there through a degrading weight check and an plan where the most important thing was to lose weight and lower your body fat.

Our twice-yearly trainings after that maintained the same structure. Mass measurement, adipose evaluation, fitness exams, rule tests, analysis of decisions, collaborative exercises and then at the end a summary was provided. On a file, we all got facts about our fitness statistics – pointers showing if we were going in the proper course (down) or improper course (up).

Body fat levels were classified into five categories. An acceptable outcome was if you {belong