It's another one of those days best spent sheltering under a canopy on some windswept beach, rather than inside the concrete shell of the Premadasa. The heat is oppressive and the humidity so draining that you envy those that have Lucozade sponsorships lined up. After seeing people packed in like cocktail sausages in a can and experiencing the cacophony of noise on the opening day, it's a strangely subdued picture that greets you when you wander into the stadium in the afternoon. There are small pockets of Indian support dotted around the various stands, but by and large, it's a vast expanse of empty seats that meets the eye. So much for the ICC moving the tournament to established cricketing nations to put bums on moulded plastic and rake in more moolah…

The press box is almost as desolate and after minutes spent swatting the obligatory irritant flies and watching the equally annoying Britney Spears Pepsi advertisements on TV, I decide on a trek around the semi-deserted stands. The first group of people I run into are the Premadasa's Men in Black – though some of them appear too frail to be part of any SWAT team. I peer a little closer and see the words, "Beer Service" stencilled on their T-shirts. As I amble up the steps to the top tier, I come across one in action.

When I was ten, the movie Ghostbusters was all the rage, and this bloke looks like one of them, with a beer keg strapped to his back and a dispensing nozzle attached to the belt. It's 50 Rupees a pop and given the weather and my ambitious plans to circumnavigate the stadium, I decide it's a wise investment.

The first pocket of Indian noise that I run into turns out to be peopled by Sri Lankan fans who have switched loyalties for the day. There is a couple though who are having some problems. He's a Zimbabwe fan and whoops it up when Douglas almost-a-motorcycle Hondo reduces India to 25 for 2, much to the chagrin of his partner – who has her revenge when Virender Sehwag thumps a couple of boundaries in quick succession. She may be a day tripper, but there's nothing fake about the enthusiasm as she jumps up and down on the hard concrete to celebrate.

A small group of Indian gents is decidedly frosty when they discover I'm from Wisden ("You people write nasty things about our team") and I walk on, deciding to give the "Heard of freedom of expression, lads?" line a miss. The ones in the lower tier are much more friendly, though I must confess I'm appalled by a placard that extols Sidhu as a role-model. Surely they aren't talking about his "pots, pans, tinkers, nipples, airhostesses…" brand of commentary. The Sachin fan clubs are out in force, with one placard reading, "Thank God you are here to grace Colombo". His Grace doesn't last too long today though and the brief outpouring of noise while he's at the crease is replaced by mausoleum-like silence when he trudges back.

I run into Dave, an English fan from Kuala Lumpur, who's hoping that Zimbabwe "make a match of it". Ten minutes later, they're doing more than that as India slump to 87 for 5. Sadly, the Zimbabwe fans can be counted on the fingertips of two hands, so we don't hear the refrains of "You're not singing anymore" directed at the Indians.

By the time I get back to the temperate environs of the media enclosure, Rahul Dravid and Mohammed Kaif are fighting to stave off the tournament's first upset. And there are the usual jokes circulating about Scyld Berry sharpening his pencil for a column concerning India, Zimbabwe and the ICC's Anti-Corruption Unit (ACU). That said, this is the second time in less than a year that India have made Hondo look a world-beater. Heck, when he plays against them, he's as eye-catching as Jennifer Lopez's posterior…

Dileep Premachandran is assistant editor of Wisden.com in India. His reports will appear here throughout the Champions Trophy.

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