When Peter Crouch dies—and yes, Peter Crouch will, like me, and you, and Liza Tarbuck, and the bloke who played Keith Miller in Eastenders, one day die—the world will remember him as a gangly, largely ineffective striker who did the robot after scoring against Jamaica in a friendly. But Peter Crouch is more than just a a gangly, largely ineffective striker who did the robot after scoring against Jamaica in a friendly: Peter Crouch is the living embodiment of Ibiza.Let me explain. It would seem that professional footballer Peter Crouch is on holiday in Ibiza at the moment, and like Ed Miliband a year ago, he's having the time of his life. Peter Crouch is Ibiza in the same way that Alfredo is Ibiza, the same way that Amnesia is Ibiza, the same way that Wayne Lineker is Ibiza. Peter Crouch is as Ibizan as a sunset at Cafe Del Mar, or puking into a condom and then drinking the puke out of the condom in a bar on the San Antonio strip. When you arrive at the airport before a week spent smashing the living FUCK out of the island, you'll be bombarded of posters and portraits and effigies of Crouchy himself. Rather than the normal Ibizan tat you fill your holdall with on the last day of a holiday—the novelty lighters and the saucy playing cards—this time around you'll be sacrificing shoes in order to fit in a plush-toy-interpretation of the Stoke City striker. DC10 are considering renaming themselves to DC25 in honour of his squad number. I can't stress it enough: Peter Crouch is the living embodiment of Ibiza.You want proof? Watch the video below of Peter Crouch absolutely "off his cake" in Ibiza this week.That is a video of Peter "Crouchy" Crouch having a ball, a blast, a whale of a time, off his bloody cake down there in the Balearic paradise. The fact that he can't really dance at all—meaning, sadly, that, perhaps, the robot was just a mistake, a moment of madness which an entire country fell for in a pre-World Cup frenzy—and that the music is the exact kind of sub-club wank you'd hear Mark Wright dropping on a Sunday at Blue Marlin, and that Crouch looks like a character so gawky he was written out of The Inbetweeners Movie for being too much of a sadsack, does absolutely nothing to hamper just how much this video is the ultimate evidence that Peter Crouch is the living embodiment of Ibiza.In fact, it's just that—the bad dancing, the terrible music, the unmistakable sensation of sadness and dread that creeps over anyone who spies an uncomfortable looking chap on a lads holiday who, at some point, is going to have to lie silently and still while his best mate shags a girl from Rotherham in the bed next to his—that makes it so patently obvious that Crouchy's dance is as Ibizan an experience as it is possible to witness. Make this man mayor for life. Give him lifelong passes to Space and Sankeys. Let him live at Pikes. Peter Crouch is the living embodiment of Ibiza and long may he reign.Follow Josh on Twitter
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