Journal of a Official: 'The Boss Examined Our Half-Naked Bodies with an Ice-Cold Gaze'

I went to the lower level, cleaned the weighing machine I had evaded for a long time and glanced at the display: 99.2kg. During the last eight years, I had shed nearly 10kg. I had evolved from being a umpire who was heavy and untrained to being slender and well trained. It had taken time, filled with determination, tough decisions and priorities. But it was also the start of a transformation that progressively brought stress, pressure and discomfort around the assessments that the authorities had introduced.

You didn't just need to be a skilled umpire, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, presenting as a elite official, that the weight and fat percentages were appropriate, otherwise you were in danger of being reprimanded, receiving less assignments and landing in the cold.

When the officiating body was overhauled during the mid-2010 period, the head official enacted a set of modifications. During the first year, there was an strong concentration on body shape, measurements of weight and body fat, and mandatory vision tests. Vision tests might appear as a given practice, but it hadn't been before. At the sessions they not only examined elementary factors like being able to decipher tiny letters at a specific range, but also specialized examinations designed for elite soccer officials.

Some umpires were identified as color deficient. Another was revealed as lacking vision in one eye and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the rumours said, but no one knew for sure – because about the results of the vision test, nothing was revealed in extended assemblies. For me, the vision test was a confidence boost. It indicated expertise, attention to detail and a goal to enhance.

When it came to weighing assessments and body fat, however, I mostly felt revulsion, frustration and humiliation. It wasn't the examinations that were the issue, but the method of implementation.

The opening instance I was obliged to experience the embarrassing ritual was in the late 2010 period at our regular session. We were in the Slovenian capital. On the initial session, the umpires were divided into three units of about 15. When my team had entered the spacious, cool meeting hall where we were to assemble, the management instructed us to strip down to our underwear. We exchanged glances, but no one reacted or ventured to speak.

We slowly took off our garments. The prior evening, we had received specific orders not to consume food or beverages in the morning but to be as empty as we could when we were to participate in the examination. It was about registering the lowest mass as possible, and having as reduced adipose level as possible. And to appear as a umpire should according to the standard.

There we remained in a lengthy queue, in just our intimate apparel. We were the continent's top officials, professional competitors, role models, grown-ups, family providers, confident individuals with high principles … but everyone remained mute. We scarcely glanced at each other, our gazes flickered a bit anxiously while we were summoned as duos. There Collina scrutinized us from completely with an ice-cold look. Quiet and observant. We mounted the weighing machine individually. I sucked in my stomach, adjusted my posture and ceased breathing as if it would change the outcome. One of the trainers clearly stated: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I sensed how the chief paused, looked at me and scanned my almost bare body. I thought to myself that this is undignified. I'm an adult and obliged to be here and be evaluated and assessed.

I alighted from the balance and it appeared as if I was disoriented. The identical trainer advanced with a sort of clamp, a instrument resembling a lie detector that he began to pinch me with on various areas of the body. The caliper, as the tool was called, was cold and I jumped a little every time it pressed against me.

The trainer squeezed, pulled, forced, measured, rechecked, uttered indistinct words, reapplied force and compressed my skin and fatty deposits. After each measurement area, he called out the metric reading he could gauge.

I had no idea what the numbers represented, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It took maybe just over a minute. An assistant inputted the values into a document, and when all readings had been established, the file rapidly computed my overall body fat. My value was declared, for all to hear: "The official, 18.7 percent."

Why did I not, or any other person, say anything?

Why didn't we rise and say what all were thinking: that it was degrading. If I had spoken out I would have at the same time executed my end of my officiating path. If I had doubted or resisted the methods that Collina had enforced then I would not have received any matches, I'm sure about that.

Of course, I also wanted to become more athletic, be lighter and attain my target, to become a top-tier official. It was clear you must not be above the ideal weight, just as clear you should be in shape – and sure, maybe the complete roster of officials demanded a standardization. But it was improper to try to get there through a humiliating weigh-in and an strategy where the primary focus was to lose weight and lower your fat percentage.

Our biannual sessions after that followed the same pattern. Weight check, adipose evaluation, endurance assessments, regulation quizzes, evaluation of rulings, group work and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a file, we all got information about our body metrics – arrows pointing if we were going in the right direction (down) or incorrect path (up).

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