I have been going to Arizona for rugby at least once a year since I was a freshman in college. While these trips often include an epic party with some of my favorite desert dwellers, it takes a lot of hugs and alcohol to negate the misery of a rugby game played at high noon in hundred degree weather and twelve hours of cumulative driving across a landscape that is best described as “beige”. Couple this with my general feelings of rage toward the “Zonies” who migrate to San Diego in droves starting in June to crowd my beaches and drive poorly around my neighborhood until well into September, and you can see why heading in an eastward direction on the I-8 past Mission Valley is something I turn my nose up at like an elderly La Jolla home owner.

However, this weekend I ventured into Arizona voluntarily for the first time in my life to attend a social rugby tournament, and this non-mandatory visit did much to open my spoiled Californian mind. In light of my newfound appreciation for the bordering state that I until recently referred to as – and I’m not proud of this – “the butthole of America”, I have decided to do a quick AZ-themed Cheers and Jeers illustrating the best and the worst of Arizona – at least the ones I managed to jot down on the way back to San Diego as I fought off a bad case of the shakes.

Cheers to drive-through liquor stores. Finally, establishments that understand that I am far too busy and important to actually park my car and walk inside to purchase a 30-pack of Bud Light. I am a drunk with an agenda.

Jeers to Arizona’s new freeway cameras, which have completely eliminated a citizen’s God-given right to weasel out of a speeding ticket the good old fashioned way: with sexual favors or a faked sudden onset of explosive diarrhea. This is just unsportsmanlike hunting. At least give me the opportunity to slam on my brakes when I see you lurking behind an overpass or produce a respectable amount of tears while you take your sweet time walking to my window. You can’t allow base speeds of up to 70 mph on the one of the most boring stretches of highway in America and then have one of your robots poach drivers when they creep up to 80. You might as well shoot a reindeer with a machine gun while it’s bridled to Santa’s sleigh.

However, Cheers to Law Enforcement in Arizona overall. Besides Vegas, I have never met a place more amiable toward an open container. Furthermore, when one of the tournament teams was conducting its Kangaroo Court poolside at the Motel 6, just as the “prosecutor” began vigorously slathering one of his teammate’s ass cracks with Vaseline and sand, two officers who had been watching the whole affair with amusement for several minutes came in and asked them to “not let anyone else jump into the pool naked and please keep the gate closed”. Downing funnels full of vodka from a beer bong with a plastic penis at one end before noon? Not a problem! But please, don’t block the walkway outside the pool area by leaving the door ajar; these families are trying to get by with their luggage.

Jeers to the weather. I generally visit Arizona in the summer or fall when the heat is so oppressive that I see the ASU Sun Devil mascot on a t-shirt and in my delirium think that the inevitable has occurred, and I have indeed entered hell. I packed accordingly this weekend and arrived in flip flops at 8 AM to a field completely covered in frost. I am going to blame 100% of my missed tackles on the paralyzing fear that my delicate Californian body might meet frozen tundra. You can’t be too hot and too cold, Arizona. Pick one undesirable climate and stick with it.

Cheers to Savers. If you’re not familiar with this aptly-named gem of a thrift store, you’re missing out. We had not one, not two, but SIX camo jacket options to choose from when accessorizing our Buck Hunter outfits for the themed social, all of them under five dollars! Flannel was also a well-stocked item. I plan on doing all my future shopping exclusively at Savers and drive-through liquor stores, as these businesses clearly share my values.

Jeers to the actual drive to and from Arizona. Is it really that likely that I picked up a trunk-load of Mexicans and diseased, non-native fruit between here and the last checkpoint? They really should turn those border patrol hubs into full service gas stations and convenience stores to justify their existence. Right now they are just creating long, unnecessary lines of traffic.

Cheers to how attractive I am in Arizona. I would never get hit on by drunk men in San Diego wearing camouflage pants and a cut off flannel. I wouldn’t even get hit on by women wearing that.

And an extra Cheers to my Arizona friends. When your first thought upon waking is that a hangover is imminent and you have nothing to look forward to that day but a six hour drive home with an insufficient number of establishments at which to purchase means of hydration or perhaps vomit, having a friend who knows to suggest coffee and breakfast burritos in front of an NFL pregame show is something to be treasured indeed.

I had a great weekend and you have convinced me to come visit again, even without the excuse of rugby. (But if you want to come to San Diego next I wouldn’t be mad about it).