We were all very excited. We all hoped that someone would win. It did not matter precisely who, or how, or why - we were there to cheer.

I was at the Chaoyang Park Beach Volleyball Ground in east Beijing, the vast sandpit where, over the past three days, the world's finest female players have come to compete for Olympic glory wearing only a bikini.

The ground can seat 12,000 and, like all the Beijing venues for the Games, tickets had sold out by the end of last month. Last night, however, the stands were speckled with empty seats, except for one corner where some 300 “fans” formed a solid block of yellow and red. This was one of the “cheer squads” being deployed by the Chinese authorities to fill empty seats and create the impression of packed stadiums. But who were these beaming, cheering “volunteer fans” in their yellow T-shirts, emblazoned with the words: “Cheering from Beijing workers” in red? I was here to find out.

They were certainly well equipped. Almost everyone had a small Chinese flag. Others were armed with inflatable sausage-shaped sticks that they waved vigorously during the game. Three rather non-conformist ladies were wearing luminous afro-wigs; everyone else had a red visor.

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Why didn't they ring me up before they decided to hold the Olympic Games in Beijing in August? Don't do it, I'd have said

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Leaning on the rail with their backs to the court, two ladies directed us: instructing us to wave and shout.

As I took a seat beside the aisle, a Brazilian player leapt to block a spike by one of her Austrian opponents and yet more orders were relayed over the stadium tannoy.

“Come on everybody, clap your hands,” the announcer said. Everyone clapped their hands; some people, obviously drunk with excitement, even stamped their feet.

The young lady beside me revealed that she was a 23-year-old law graduate who had recently started working in a government office. She had never been to a volleyball match before. “I cheer for both teams,” she told me when I asked her which team she was supporting.

“We are just volunteers,” she explained. “My work unit offered me this opportunity, they got us tickets.” She and 19 other colleagues were also due to attend a women's football match.

Like eveything else at these Games, nothing had been left to chance. My new friend revealed that she had been in cheering training since July.

“We learnt the etiquette one should observe when watching the game,” she said. “We shouldn't walk around when games are in progress, we shouldn't talk loudly and we should applaud for both parties.” She was rather vague about who provided this training, saying merely that they were taught by “someone who is good at it”.

At the top of the stand I met Li, a friendly 40-year-old lady who was part of a group of nearly 100 workers from the supermarket chain Jing Ke Long. They had undertaken three cheering classes, each three hours long, in preparation for tonight's appearance. I went to cheer with them.

At first I feared I might not be accepted, for I had not had any training at all, but two ladies from the supermarket's human resources department took me in hand. Both were armed with pompoms that they deployed to great effect. I was told to shout: “Jia you Beijing, hao yun zhongguo!” (“Come on Beijing, good luck China!”) It did not seem to matter that the match was the United States v Germany.

Liu, 24, handed me a pompom. As I stood and waved my pompom, another volunteer took my photograph. I thought this might be to report me to the authorities for poor cheering, or perhaps to recommend me for some sort of government award. Exhausted, I took my leave of the ladies from human resources. “I hope you enjoy Beijing,” they said.