In sport, as it is in life, you're faced with a choice. You can either be a poor winner or a poor loser. The point is that you've got to be consistent. Photo / Getty Images
Christ almighty I got pissed last night. But not as pissed as I got this morning.
I would rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy but I've had both and it's hard to tell the difference.
Likewise, sometimes when I'm saying something I could swear that I'm talking out of my a***. "Mate," said Warney, "there's only one way to find out!"
"Mate," I said, "I think you already pulled that stunt last night."
So much went on last night after we beat New Zealand to win the 2015 Cricket World Cup. I don't remember half of it and part of me wishes I could forget the other half.
In fact I have many deep regrets about my behaviour, including various disparaging comments I may have made to the fine and upstanding New Zealand cricket team during our encounter at that grand old oval, the MCG.
I'd like to issue a heartfelt apology to anyone who I may have offended. I know the rest of the boys feel the same. It would take away from the triumph of our victory if people mistakenly regarded us as boorish, unsporting, and repulsive.
Furthermore, I'm too hungover to read the rest of this crap someone has handed me on a piece of paper and anyone who took offence at my continual sledging of those Kiwi losers can basically kiss my a***, although they might have to wait in line after Warney.
More and more people are laying into our behaviour in the final, and taking particular exception to the fact I might have given one or two Kiwi batsmen a bit of lip after we got them out.
But no one's even checked to see exactly what it is that I said.
When Martin Guptill was dismissed, I said to him, "Mate, I'm really sorry. I'm devastated, to be honest. I was looking forward to matching wits with you as our two proud nations compete for cricket's ultimate prize.
"Certainly you're a world-class batsman. That knock of 237 you got against the West Indies was a thrilling achievement and I'd like to take this opportunity to shake your hand, not only for your stand at the crease that day, but also for your marvellous career in general. I wish you all the best."
And do you know what he said?
Just one word. What a pathetic response.
So I said to him as he left, "Mate, you can stick your 'thanks' up your a***. Good riddance, dickhead!"
Grant Elliott wasn't much better. After I gave him another of my eloquent valedictories he said, "Thanks, mate".
I expected a lot better from him. At the end of the day, he let himself down.
He should know that in sport, as it is in life, you're faced with a choice. You can either be a poor winner or a poor loser. The point is that you've got to be consistent.
The truth about Kiwis is they only act as though they're laid-back. They're actually a bunch of seething and belligerent misanthropes. Perhaps that's one reason why they blend in so well when they come here in their thousands and draw the dole.
But what really gets our backs up is when they carry on like they're all high and mighty.
I remember meeting this old Kiwi once. He was a right prick. It was at an airport somewhere in Asia, maybe Nepal, when we were on a stopover going to India. People were bowing in front of him, and treating him like a god.
I went over to him, and said, "Who the hell d'you think you are, mate?"
He put out his hand, and said, "Hi. Ed."
Christ almighty. It's Easter, and the Kiwis are still moaning about me.
"They'll get over it," Warney said.
But then he saw the disappointment on my face, slapped my back, and said, "Nearly had you there, didn't I?"
Good old Warney!
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