Can Sanchez see the future?

It was Saturday the 25th of Septmber, 12.38pm. Today was the AFL Grand Final day. As it was just passed midday, Sanchez was about to have breakfast. As he walked to the kitchen a strange feeling fell over him. He collapsed. He blacked out. Five minutes later he awoke. He had knowledge he previously had not, yes he could still slay sluts on the reg, but there was something new. He couldn't put his finger on it, it was stuck at the back of his mind, unable to be brought to the front. Sanchez decided to let it be, not worried at all by his collapse and black out, he continued to make his breakfast.

He reached down to open the cutlery drawer..."Draw! That's it! The AFL Grand Final will be a draw!"

Sanchez raced to his computer, clicked out of the dozens of redtube videos and brought up his trusty stalking weapon, facebook. He had to publicly dispay his prediction for it to be legit. His fingers danced across the keyboard and before his eyes, history was made. The boldest of prediction had been cast. Many poked fun, laughed and ridiculed Sanchez but throughout it all he stood strong with the knowledge that he was soon to become a national icon. Sorry, scrap that. He stood strong in the knowledge that although he is already a national icon, treasured by millions and worshipped by more, he was about to become even bigger.

Sanchez then went a friend to watch the game. The cruisers were flowing and chat was starting. Going into the final minute with scores tied and everyone screaming for St. Kilda, you could witness a drunken Sanchez standing on a chair screaming for a tie. As the final hooter went, everyone slumped despairingly back into the chairs, hands went to heads and the tears started, but Sanchez jumped off his chair, fist pumping and screaming. He had instantly become bigger the Oprah (not in weight cause that isn't possible, let's be realistic here), Brangelina, move aside, Posh and Becks, who are they? I am Sanchez Alfonso, future teller.

But the night didn't stop there. It was to the local park for a game of drunken AFL and then back to the house to wait for the NRL preliminary final. In the lead up to the game, a dear friend of Sanchez' who we will name BT announced to everyone that he would drink anything I want, and he stressed anything, if I could do 22 clap push-ups. Sanchez isn't exactly known for his physical strength, but when it comes to making BT drink something disgusting, Sanchez knew he had to step up. He drunkinly assumed the push up position and started. At 10 he heard the cry, "You are screwed BT!" But they crowd couldn't feel Sanchez's pain. At 16 he started to slow. The crowd was screaming, Sanchez's muscles were burning and BT was there telling me how much it hurt. 18...19.......20.....................21....................................Nothing! Sanchez couldn't do it. He collapsed, BT dived on him, screaming words that can not be repeated here.

After overcoming that disappointment with a few tasty cruisers, the count was now up to 10. Halfway through the footy game, a drinking game was proposed. You had to name a player from each team and each time they touched the ball, you had to drink. If the players tackled each other, you had to scull. Sanchez picked Gibbs from the Tigers and Cooper from the Dragons. The game was going well until Cooper was tackled by Gibbs. Oh no, a scull. But what's this? No one has noticed. Sanchez had copped a massive break. A few tackles later he lent over to his mate, who shall be named, DA (yes I am just using peoples initials, shutup), and whispered, "DA, can you keep a secret?" "Sure mate" he replied. "Even if its incriminating against me?" "Mate, even more reason for me to keep it." he assured me. "Good, cause my two players just tackled each other" I divulged to him. He looked at me and smiled a cheeky but dangerous smile. Sanchez had seen that smile before, he had just made a grave error. "Sanchez's players just tackled each other, he has to scull!" he shouted across the room. It reminded me of a famous saying Sanchez once used in a grade 2 speech... In war, trust is an unfamiliar novelty in which a vessel of deceipt may flow. Poignant and poetic.

Finally Sanchez made it out. Chat chat chat chat. Sanchez woke up with a sore shoulder from throwing so much chat. Not too mention the most raging hangover. But let us rewind, the first stop was Fridays. Then to Stocky. This is where it gets messy. Sanchez caught up with some boys from his old mexican school days and because two of them weren't drinking, Sanchez decided to make up for them. Sanchez's proudest moment came when he went to the bar one time. The girl next to him smiled at him, he smiled back. Sanchez knew, he was in. No doubts, she wanted him. It was fact. Sanchez said hello, she said hi. Another smile. Wow, too easy, clear the bar, this is going to happen right here, right now! "What are you drinking?" Sanchez opened with, hoping this would lead to another classic roofies joke. But as he said this, he noticed a strange thing around this girls neck. It was a male arm. Suddenly she had rotated and instead of her being next to me, it was the owner of the arm. "Mate, it doesn't matter what she is drinking!" the owner told me. Sanchez had two thoughts, 1. Soooo, I shouldn't make a roofies joke? and 2. Hmmm maybe she won't be getting with me. Although he was still unsure on that last one. Apparently some people smile to be polite and not to signal extreme attraction and readiness to engage in adulterous affairs on nightclub bars.

Sanchez was still trying to rap his head and this when he passed out on the bus ride home and had to be woken by the bus driver as he was the last person on the bus. And just on a side note, the bus stop near Fridays won't be the same again. Sanchez the Seer had become Sanchez the Sick.