Account of a Official: 'The Boss Scrutinized Our Nearly Nude Bodies with an Frigid Gaze'

I descended to the basement, wiped the balance I had shunned for a long time and looked at the readout: 99.2kg. Over the past eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had transformed from being a referee who was bulky and unfit to being slender and fit. It had taken time, full of persistence, difficult choices and focus. But it was also the start of a transformation that slowly introduced pressure, strain and unease around the assessments that the authorities had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a competent umpire, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, presenting as a top-level referee, that the body mass and fat percentages were appropriate, otherwise you risked being disciplined, getting fewer matches and finding yourself in the wilderness.

When the officiating body was replaced during the mid-2010 period, the leading figure enacted a set of modifications. During the initial period, there was an strong concentration on physique, measurements of weight and fat percentage, and compulsory eyesight exams. Vision tests might appear as a given practice, but it had not been before. At the courses they not only tested basic things like being able to read small text at a certain distance, but also more specific tests designed for professional football referees.

Some referees were identified as unable to distinguish certain hues. Another was revealed as blind in one eye and was obliged to retire. At least that's what the whispers claimed, but no one knew for sure – because about the outcomes of the eyesight exam, nothing was revealed in extended assemblies. For me, the eyesight exam was a comfort. It demonstrated expertise, attention to detail and a desire to enhance.

When it came to body mass examinations and adipose measurement, however, I primarily experienced revulsion, anger and embarrassment. It wasn't the tests that were the problem, but the method of implementation.

The opening instance I was forced to endure the humiliating procedure was in the late 2010 period at our annual course. We were in the Slovenian capital. On the opening day, the umpires were separated into three groups of about 15. When my team had entered the big, chilly assembly area where we were to assemble, the leadership urged us to undress to our underclothes. We looked at each other, but everyone remained silent or dared to say anything.

We carefully shed our garments. The prior evening, we had been given explicit directions not to consume food or beverages in the morning but to be as devoid as we could when we were to take the assessment. It was about weighing as little as possible, and having as minimal body fat as possible. And to appear as a official should according to the paradigm.

There we stood in a lengthy queue, in just our underclothes. We were the elite arbiters of European football, elite athletes, role models, grown-ups, parents, strong personalities with great integrity … but no one said anything. We barely looked at each other, our eyes darted a bit anxiously while we were summoned two by two. There the boss examined us from head to toe with an ice-cold look. Mute and watchful. We stepped onto the weighing machine singly. I contracted my abdomen, stood erect and stopped inhaling as if it would have an effect. One of the instructors audibly declared: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I felt how Collina stopped, looked at me and scanned my nearly naked body. I thought to myself that this lacks respect. I'm an mature individual and obliged to remain here and be evaluated and assessed.

I descended from the scale and it appeared as if I was standing in a fog. The identical trainer advanced with a sort of clamp, a polygraph-like tool that he commenced pressing me with on various areas of the body. The measuring tool, as the instrument was called, was cold and I started a little every time it pressed against me.

The instructor compressed, drew, forced, quantified, reassessed, spoke unclearly, squeezed once more and pinched my epidermis and adipose tissue. After each assessment point, he declared the metric reading he could assess.

I had no idea what the figures signified, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It took maybe just over a minute. An assistant recorded the figures into a record, and when all readings had been determined, the record quickly calculated my overall body fat. My value was announced, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."

What prevented me from, or any other person, speak up?

What stopped us from get to our feet and state what each person felt: that it was degrading. If I had spoken out I would have concurrently executed my career's death sentence. If I had doubted or resisted the procedures that the boss had implemented then I would not have received any games, I'm convinced of that.

Certainly, I also desired to become more athletic, weigh less and achieve my objective, to become a top-tier official. It was clear you shouldn't be overweight, just as clear you must be conditioned – and admittedly, maybe the whole officiating group needed a professionalisation. But it was improper to try to achieve that through a embarrassing mass assessment and an agenda where the key objective was to shed pounds and minimise your fat percentage.

Our twice-yearly trainings thereafter maintained the same structure. Weight check, adipose evaluation, fitness exams, rule tests, reviews of interpretations, team activities and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a file, we all got data about our body metrics – arrows indicating if we were going in the right direction (down) or incorrect path (up).

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