Karen from Canberra is leading the charge. "Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi," she screams above the din. No one is listening. She's attempting to orchestrate the chant, waving her arms to the crowd in the best tradition of a professional symphony conductor. It's not working. This is semi-final time, Premadasa Stadium, Colombo, and Sri Lanka is galloping towards a crushing victory over the erstwhile all-conquering Australians. "We're getting completely canned," she says, "but I'll support the team to the end." On the railings above her head, the banner of the day is the painted image of a lion devouring a kangaroo. The sentiment is being replicated on the field, but Karen doesn't care. She's here for the duration. Meanwhile, husband Neil calls encouragement to the Australian players. "Keep going Marto," he yells. "Good bowling Warnie." It's not working. Today this much touted eleven couldn't beat the Quambatook school girls' under-ten side.

Neil, however, is nothing if not determined. "I had some beers with the players the other night and they told me they can hear it so I'll keep it up and maybe it will do some good," he says. "Supporting the team is the important thing, win, lose or draw." Son Rory and daughter Rebekka lost interest in the game long ago. They're people watching, mesmerised by the enthusiasm of the Sri Lankan fans and beginning to wilt in the heat and humidity.

By the 10th over of the Sri Lankan innings, the displaced family unit realises it's a hopeless cause. "We'll get them next time," says Neil. "It's a terrific atmosphere here and we're still proud of the team. That's what's great about cricket; sometimes you win, sometimes you don't." The Canberrians don't recognise the current tune emanating from Premadasa's resident Tijuana-brass inspired band, but it may as well be; "Nearer My God To Thee." After all, it sounded convincing wafting over the quick-sinking decks of the Titanic.

It's no secret that Australians hate losing. We're not used to it. We've got Thorpie and Cathy and little Lleyton. We've got the Wallabies and the Hockeyroos. We love to win and when we do we're loud, irreverent, and more than often, a tad obnoxious. In sporting terms, placing the words "shrinking violet" and "Australian" in the same sentence is a contradiction in terms.

But today is about defeat and by the time Sri Lanka reach 150, the writing's not only on the wall, it's been etched in stone. Back at the now famous Cricket Club café, they're undoubtedly preparing to add "Ponting's Humble Pie" to the menu. The Australians in the crowd are quiet, stunned, wondering how they managed to end up in this parallel universe and wishing they could crawl through the exit doors. If they had ready access to those red shoes, they'd be clicking the heels together like the proverbial clappers and repeating the "There's no place like home," theme as if there was no tomorrow.

Rachel from Perth is way past viewing the drubbing as a character-building experience. Her arms have been crossed for an hour and her eyes took on a terminal glaze as soon as Damien Martyn made the slow walk to the dressing room. "I'm finding this very difficult," she says. "I'm fully prepared to be a bad loser. I'm not at all interested in being diplomatic about this. It's time for a major sulk and I think I'm entitled." Rachel and her boyfriend Tim have been backpacking their way around Sri Lanka, landing in Colombo just in time for the match. She's resplendent in green and gold, he's got the flag proudly stitched on his T- shirt and they're taking the thrashing with about as much grace as a couple of short-changed Fremantle taxi drivers. "I don't know what they're doing out there," Rachel adds. "It all started off so well. This just isn't supposed to happen."

Tim, however, is oblivious. He's onto his fifth beer and more than happy to forget the existence of this ridiculous leather-ball game. His thoughts have already turned southward; to the pigskin encounter taking place 12,000 miles away. At least in the Aussie Rules grand final, an Australian victory is assured. "Are you watching the game tomorrow?" he asks. "I heard 15,000 people turned up to watch Collingwood train."

Meanwhile, back at the symphony, Karen is still chanting. The "Oi, Oi Oi" is losing a little rhythm, and pace and the voice is becoming hoarse, but the intensity remains. "The result really doesn't matter," she says. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world. Who'd want to be anywhere else?" You can take the girl out of Canberra, but you can't take Canberra out of the girl.

Christine Davey is a freelance writer based in Victoria

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