Bathroom that makes you want to crap into a hole in the floor? Check.
Jukebox that has a cornucopia of blissfully crappy hairband rock? Check.
Beer? Check.
Dirt parking lot? Check.
All in the heart of Scottsdale? Check.
Yes, the coach house was brought to my consciousness by none other than Kathryn L., who isn't a yelper but should be, and her two lovely friends. Dive bar perfection. Not much space, too many smokers outside, but domestic light beer by the plenty and drunk pinball whenever you're ready to kick it up a notch.
This is also a great place for spring training drinks, and if you stay here long enough you just may forget your middle name.