2025-09-21_Ibiza_Tour_Report

Ibiza Tour Report (Season 2025)

Date: 19 – 21 September 2025

Tour Report

(Photos can be found here if we have any that are publishable)

Match Report by K-Man

Salix in Ibiza 2025: Clubbing & Cricket in A Corridor of Uncertainty

By Our Man with the Golden Biro           

It’s 4.15am on the dancefloor of Hi Ibiza, currently the top-rated club in the world. I’m surrounded by strangers in sunglasses. The deep beats permeate in a 21st Century that feels fragile and uncertain. The rise of AI. The shifting sands of Western democratic systems. America’s collective sleepwalk into full government authoritarianism. And it is here, after two days of making no impact with bat or ball all tour, I find myself wondering what cricket and clubbing actually have in common.

Quite a lot, it turns out. See, if your mind locks into the upbeat of any dance track (you’ll see the pattern – usually on the 4th, 8th or 16th beat of a repetitive bass loop), it’s the equivalent of batting 15 overs and playing yourself in. Time has slowed down. You’re seeing everything big. Your feet are moving instinctively. There are people around you but you can see through the gaps. And, you know, crucially, that you’re never getting out. Not until it’s over.

And that, dear reader, also encapsulates “Jitu” — the opening batsman of the opposition we faced in our first match of the Salix 2025 Tour to Ibiza.

Yes, our oppo was called “Top Knockers”. But it may as well have been Jitu and his 10. This fella — rumoured to be a former international for India’s over-50s team — subjected Salix to an onslaught of batting so brutal that, within minutes, the tour outcome looked more inevitable than Keir Starmer’s declining fortunes at the next General Election. His cutting so rapacious it made Sweeney Todd look like a cautious hairdresser. Every ball was dispatched with the kind of disdain that would later be reserved for Easyjet boarding procedures. His total of 127* matched by numerous wickets and catches. And very soon, here in the Ibizan sunshine, Salix were mere spectators at our own game.

And yet, Salix managed a few counter-punches. CK, with his short run-up, was hard to play on the trampoline-bounce of Ibiza CC’s artificial pitch. Rich, after a week of touring the island on 15 Euros, bowled with venom. A drop off his bowling behind the stumps in his first over could’ve changed everything (as we were reminded all weekend).

Saiborg was a contradiction — one moment being told to “remember what a red cricket ball looks like”, the next taking a left-handed catch in the covers with such nonchalance, we all thought it was a no ball. And Arsey turned in a bowling spell of three wickets for 31, an effort so decent that I was reminded of what he told me during a rainy afternoon in Zagreb last year. “Salix are like solar panels. We just take a few hours to warm up.”

Then Salix’s own “Mr Jitu” arrived. Our very own Flying Doctor. Allow me to spend a few minutes on Raj – it’s worth it. There are few people with such batting talent who wear it so lightly. Whether taking guard (or issuing mental health advice to teammates the night prior) everything is done with such care and detail. Including his batting. Wes Streeting, if you’re reading this, here is your next poster boy for the NHS. Plus, the shots he played that afternoon were box office. He smashed 82 runs, peppering the bowling with such a display of leg-side flicks and power hitting that at one point it felt like he’d single-handedly win the match for Salix. He was only dismissed because of the most scintillating catch in the covers (was Jitu involved? Probably!).

Sai later joined with a stylish 19 (which in Ibiza terms is basically a 50). And Irwin stuck around like a man still waiting for his flight home – something he’d be doing for days afterwards.

I’ll come back to the cricket, but first, a bit more off the pitch. This tour was different from last year – better weather, more chances of games, but sadly, barely any WAGS. In fact, after 2024, it was as though Salix had been subjected to a BCCI-style partners tour ban.

All credit then to Jules, who frankly, deserves a medal for being so patient. She won’t mind me saying, with very little visible understanding of cricket, I can’t think of any wife or partner who would sign up to be in a remote Ibizan villa nestled on a mountain for four days with 11 blokes and the haze of Lynx Africa permeating through the villa. Not to mention a swimming pool used more as a cricket surface. And a fridge which – without her and Tim – which would have only been stocked with beers and ham the entire weekend.

In fact, Tim and Jules were the ultimate villa proprietors – accommodating, hospitable and always playing for the team. I can just imagine the two of them setting up their own residential pub in the quiet English countryside when these best years of cricket are behind us all. (Judging by the weekends performance, that could be sooner rather than later…)

To that end, Deepak, too, was everywhere. Clearing up. Tidying up. Washing up. Solving household logistics with monk-like calm — and making his rare debut at club 528, possibly the only club in Ibiza where the average age is over 35 and no one is filming themselves for the Instagram.

Which brings us to the night out. Ibiza is a place where DJs are treated like royalty, and cricketers are treated like confused tourists. We were both. After a splendid outdoor dinner in Mikisa, with paella plates the size of satellite dishes, Mike Ellis’s pink Hawaiian shirts made their debut.

Very soon, these were an island-wide talking point. The plonked-on pineapples were the clubbing conversation starter (and not just among Pinner housewives). And what started out the cloth of ridicule – ended up becoming the must-wear tour outfit. By midnight I’m sure I saw a mother from Leicester on the dancefloor of 528 wearing one of those borrowed from a member of the team.

Even today, Monday morning, as I stand here on the dancefloor of Hi Ibiza, having voluntarily worn it for this final night out, people have come up to me asking: “are you one of those people who were here to play cricket?”.

Oh Mikey Ellis, forget your impressive bowling (and perpetual bridge loaning) all tour, we properly salute your sartorial design. On behalf of all of Salix who refused to engage with your extremely specific collar-size questions three months earlier, we apologise. You were right all along. On this. On the AirBNB. On Splitwise. On pretty much everything…

So onto Sunday morning, and the big night out meant that Sunday’s T20 against an Ibizan XI was nondescript. In short, a tale of two halves. Rich had promised to bag us five wickets – but was soon back on the beers at the boundary. The first 10 overs saw Salix struggle to clear the cobwebs – pumped by some explosive Dutch-driven batting.

Thank goodness then for Dillan and Mike, who injected some spinning discipline that made it a tighter second half and a respectable loss. Krutik also made up for his unfortunate duck the day before with some big hitting for 15. I know there is plenty more where that came from – and look forward to seeing it next year.

And Ibiza Cricket Club was a joy to behold: a proper batting mat, white-bedsheet sightscreen, and a drinks area that saw more action than our slip cordon over the entire two days.

In fact, the tour concluded with the ceremonial passing of the captain’s torch to Krutik — who accepted it with the serene grace of a man fully aware he’ll be blamed for everything next year.  And while England may be packing five 90mph seamers for the Ashes, Salix had pink shirts, harmonicas, and a team spirit that held firm all weekend.

Yes, we lost the toss. Yes, we lost both games. But we never lost our spirit. And that—that—is what makes Salix so rare. In a world that feels increasingly untethered, where match reports like these may soon be relics before the machines take over, Salix still delivers tours that belong in folklore.

For now though, it’s 6am on a Monday morning. The last track has faded, the sun is rising, and my cancelled flight has gifted me one of the greatest final nights out. My phone is buzzing with messages from the Salix lads back at the villa, where the legendary Team XI pool party has just wrapped. I jump in a taxi, heading back to base.

And I feel it—energised, alive. Because here, in the middle of the 21st century, being with Salix isn’t about winning. Like clubbing, it’s about showing up, going the distance, and trusting the crew around you. In times like these, the best thing you can do—the only thing you can do —is lose yourself in how truly special that is.