🔗 Share this article

I went to the cellar, wiped the scales I had shunned for several years and looked at the display: 99.2kg. Over the past eight years, I had shed nearly 10kg. I had evolved from being a umpire who was overweight and out of shape to being light and fit. It had demanded dedication, filled with determination, hard calls and focus. But it was also the commencement of a transformation that progressively brought anxiety, tension and unease around the assessments that the top management had introduced.

You didn't just need to be a good official, it was also about focusing on nutrition, presenting as a premier referee, that the body mass and body fat were appropriate, otherwise you faced being penalized, getting fewer matches and finding yourself in the cold.

When the regulatory group was overhauled during the summer of 2010, the head official introduced a set of modifications. During the opening phase, there was an extreme focus on physical condition, body mass assessments and fat percentage, and required optical assessments. Eyesight examinations might appear as a given practice, but it had not been before. At the courses they not only evaluated fundamental aspects like being able to read small text at a specific range, but also more specific tests adapted for professional football referees.

Some referees were discovered as color deficient. Another proved to be partially sighted and was forced to quit. At least that's what the gossip suggested, but nobody was certain – because regarding the findings of the eyesight exam, details were withheld in big gatherings. For me, the eyesight exam was a comfort. It demonstrated expertise, thoroughness and a goal to get better.

Concerning weighing assessments and adipose measurement, however, I mostly felt aversion, frustration and degradation. It wasn't the tests that were the difficulty, but the method of implementation.

The first time I was forced to endure the humiliating procedure was in the fall of 2010 at our regular session. We were in the Slovenian capital. On the first morning, the referees were split into three teams of about 15. When my group had stepped into the large, cold meeting hall where we were to gather, the supervisors urged us to strip down to our intimate apparel. We exchanged glances, but no one reacted or ventured to speak.

We slowly took off our clothes. The prior evening, we had been given 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 registering the lowest mass as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to look like a umpire should according to the standard.

There we stood in a extended line, in just our underclothes. We were the elite arbiters of European football, top sportsmen, exemplars, mature individuals, parents, strong personalities with high principles … but no one said anything. We scarcely glanced at each other, our gazes flickered a bit apprehensively while we were invited in pairs. There the boss examined us from completely with an frigid gaze. Silent and watchful. We stepped onto the scale singly. I sucked in my abdomen, straightened my back and stopped inhaling as if it would make any difference. One of the instructors audibly declared: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I felt how the boss hesitated, glanced my way and scanned my nearly naked body. I thought to myself that this is not worthy. I'm an mature individual and obliged to be here and be inspected and critiqued.

I descended from the scale and it felt like I was standing in a fog. The same instructor approached with a type of caliper, a device similar to a truth machine that he began to pinch me with on various areas of the body. The caliper, as the tool was called, was chilly and I started a little every time it pressed against me.

The trainer compressed, pulled, forced, quantified, reassessed, spoke unclearly, reapplied force and compressed my epidermis and adipose tissue. After each measurement area, he called out the measurement in mm he could gauge.

I had no idea what the figures signified, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It took maybe just over a minute. An assistant entered the values into a record, and when all readings had been determined, the file swiftly determined my complete adipose level. My value was declared, for all to hear: "The official, 18.7 percent."

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

What stopped us from get to our feet and say what each person felt: that it was demeaning. If I had voiced my concerns I would have concurrently signed my end of my officiating path. If I had challenged or resisted the methods that the chief had enforced then I would not have received any games, I'm certain of that.

Certainly, I also aimed to become fitter, reduce my mass and reach my goal, to become a elite arbiter. It was evident you ought not to be heavy, equally obvious you should be conditioned – and certainly, maybe the whole officiating group required a standardization. But it was incorrect to try to achieve that through a degrading weight check and an plan where the most important thing was to reduce mass and reduce your body fat.

Our twice-yearly trainings subsequently followed the same pattern. Weight check, adipose evaluation, endurance assessments, laws of the game examinations, evaluation of rulings, group work and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a report, we all got information about our physical profile – arrows showing if we were going in the right direction (down) or wrong direction (up).

Adipose measurements were classified into five categories. An approved result was if you {belong