IT could have been worse. Shane Warne could have been at ground control when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon.

‘’Yeah, yeah, Armo. One small step for mankind. But how many bourbon and Cokes are you going to have when you get back to Earth? Pretty thirsty down here.’’

Instead, after the World Cup final, Warne hovered over the triumphant Australians like the sad old uncle at an 18th birthday party.

‘’Who’s thirsty? We gunna go for a drink somewhere after this boys? Don’t forget to tell me, will you boys. Hey boys, where are you all going ...’’

The post-game interview is a difficult art. Trying to extract relevant remarks from excited players who would much rather have an arm around a teammate is so fraught you can sympathise even with those gormless interrogators who can’t do much better than a desperate: ‘’How do you feel?’’

But Warne’s puerile attempts to reduce a momentous sporting achievement to an excuse for a post-game booze up plumbed new depths. Although not for the reasons the aggressively unrepentant Warne claimed.

media_camera The Barry Humphries creation Sir Les Patterson.

‘’Do gooders get stuffed,’’ tweeted Warne, stretching an apparently limited vocabulary further than his pre-metrosexual cricket pants. ‘’Straya is the best place in the world, not politically correct, keep it real. Aussies celebrate properly! #thirsty’’.

Which is about as self-serving and deluded as you can get — even at 2.56am having apparently made a good start on quenching your own hash tag.

No one begrudges the Australians their post-game celebrations. Coach Darren Lehman’s tweeted pictures of his bedraggled team at dawn were appropriate, even endearing. All the more so because they emphasised the intimate bond between coach and players — not a single high profile hanger-on in shot.

In his relentlessly cringe-worthy badgering of ‘’thirsty’’ Australian players, however, Warne puts the beer before horse. His oafish attempts to relate sporting triumph solely to the celebrations creates the impression that it is the post-game party, rather than the feats on the field, that are the objective.

Thus a moment to celebrate a wonderful and — given the backdrop created by Phillip Hughes’ death — even touching achievement was reduced to the kind of conversation you might find in a college boarding house on keg night: ‘’How many you gunna get down you tonight mate?’’

Fortunately no one could take Warne seriously. The greatest bowler of a generation is now the Sir Les Patterson of cricket. A vulgar caricature taken beyond parody by his ham-fisted attempts at cyberspace self-promotion.

So forget about chastising Warne for promoting binge drinking. Not even the most impressionable 12 year-old could be seriously persuaded cricket was all about the booze because Warnie wanted to get on the gas with the boys.

media_camera Shane Warne celebrates with Michael Clarke and the World Cup trophy after the match.

At the start of his commentary career Warne was fresh and insightful. Now, encouraged by the matey culture of Nine’s blokey boys club the pearls of wisdom have given way to the type of mindless banter and inside jokes routine for a bunch of old muckers talking to each other rather than their audience.

One of the refreshing aspects of the World Cup was the broader international panel of commentators. Australia’s feats seemed greater because they were analysed and appreciated by some dispassionate voice. Not the source of predictable drooling sycophancy.

Unfortunately, on an otherwise wonderful night for Australian cricket, Warne brought us jarringly back to a world where introspection and emotion are trampled in the stampede to get to the bar and ‘’get thirsty’’.