I ventured to the basement, cleaned the balance I had shunned for several years and glanced at the readout: 99.2kg. Over the past eight years, I had shed nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a official who was overweight and untrained to being lean and fit. It had required effort, filled with patience, tough decisions and focus. But it was also the start of a transformation that slowly introduced stress, strain and disquiet around the assessments that the leadership had enforced.
You didn't just need to be a skilled official, it was also about prioritising diet, presenting as a top-level umpire, that the weight and body fat were appropriate, otherwise you faced being disciplined, receiving less assignments and landing in the wilderness.
When the regulatory group was replaced during the mid-2010 period, the leading figure brought in a number of changes. During the first year, there was an strong concentration on physical condition, weigh-ins and body fat, and compulsory eyesight exams. Vision tests might sound like a expected practice, but it had not been before. At the training programs they not only examined fundamental aspects like being able to read small text at a particular length, but also targeted assessments tailored to elite soccer officials.
Some umpires were identified as colour blind. Another turned out to be partially sighted and was forced to quit. At least that's what the rumours said, but nobody was certain – because regarding the findings of the vision test, nothing was revealed in larger groups. For me, the optical check was a confidence boost. It signalled expertise, attention to detail and a desire to enhance.
Regarding tests of weight and adipose measurement, however, I largely sensed revulsion, frustration and degradation. It wasn't the tests that were the issue, but the manner of execution.
The first time I was forced to endure the embarrassing ritual was in the autumn of 2010 at our regular session. We were in a European city. On the initial session, the officials were separated into three teams of about 15. When my unit had entered the big, chilly conference room where we were to meet, the management urged us to remove our clothes to our underclothes. We exchanged glances, but nobody responded or attempted to object.
We slowly took off our attire. The previous night, we had obtained explicit directions not to have any nourishment in the morning but to be as devoid as we could when we were to take the assessment. It was about showing minimal weight as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to appear as a umpire should according to the paradigm.
There we stood in a extended line, in just our underclothes. We were the elite arbiters of European football, professional competitors, role models, mature individuals, caregivers, confident individuals with strong ethics … 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 scrutinized us from head to toe with an ice-cold look. Mute and attentive. We stepped onto the scale singly. I contracted my abdomen, adjusted my posture and held my breath as if it would change the outcome. One of the instructors audibly declared: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I sensed how the boss paused, looked at me and surveyed my partially unclothed body. I mused that this is undignified. I'm an mature individual and obliged to be here and be evaluated and judged.
I stepped off the balance and it appeared as if I was standing in a fog. The identical trainer advanced with a kind of pliers, a device similar to a truth machine that he started to squeeze me with on different parts of the body. The measuring tool, as the device was called, was chilly and I flinched a little every time it pressed against me.
The trainer pressed, drew, forced, quantified, measured again, spoke unclearly, reapplied force and pinched my epidermis and body fat. After each test site, he declared the metric reading he could assess.
I had no idea what the values stood for, if it was favorable or unfavorable. It required about a minute. An aide inputted the figures into a file, and when all four values had been determined, the file quickly calculated my complete adipose level. My reading was proclaimed, for all to hear: "Eriksson, eighteen point seven percent."
Why didn't I, or anyone else, say anything?
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 simultaneously signed my career's death sentence. If I had doubted or challenged the methods that Collina had introduced then I would not have received any fixtures, I'm convinced of that.
Certainly, I also desired to become fitter, reduce my mass and achieve my objective, to become a elite arbiter. It was clear you must not be overweight, just as clear you ought to be in shape – and sure, maybe the complete roster of officials needed a standardization. But it was wrong to try to reach that level through a degrading weight check and an agenda where the key objective was to reduce mass and minimise your body fat.
Our two annual courses after that maintained the same structure. Weight check, adipose evaluation, endurance assessments, regulation quizzes, analysis of decisions, team activities and then at the end all would be recapped. On a file, we all got information about our body metrics – arrows pointing if we were going in the proper course (down) or incorrect path (up).
Fat percentages were grouped into five categories. An approved result was if you {belong
