Germany was first, followed by France, England and Italy. Japan arrived a few years later, with Korea trailing by several decades. Since 1949, foreign car makers have mounted assaults on America’s automotive market. A few have flourished, others have had moderate success, but many have retreated after failing to establish a beachhead. And now another wave is forming, threatening to storm our shores. Entrepreneur Malcolm Bricklin is leading the charge, establishing Visionary Vehicles LLC to import a line of “aggressively priced, beautifully styled, high-quality vehicles” built in China.  Are we about to witness the next automotive revolution, or are we being asked to buy the Bricklin bridge?

Malcolm Bricklin has a, uh, "colorful" business background. When he was in his 20’s, Bricklin built his father’s building supply into a chain of stores. When the company became embroiled in lawsuits, Malcolm took his millions and left– just before the company went bankrupt. Bricklin’s next business venture: selling motor scooters built by Fuji Heavy Industries. After he realized Fuji’s Subaru 360 automobile was so light it could slip under the government’s safety regulations, he formed Subaru of America to import the tiny car.

Sales went fairly well until Consumer Reports named the 360 “the most dangerous car in the United States.” Sales plummeted and Bricklin bailed out of the business. But not before securing a thousand 360s in an attempt to establish a private race series (no really). Not long afterwards his financial backer sued Bricklin for misappropriation of funds. Bricklin moved on to his next– and arguably most infamous– project: the Bricklin SV-1.

Bricklin’s automotive namesake created a high price sports car clad in an acrylic plastic shell. The SV-1’s gullwing doors– its most distinctive feature– weighed almost 100 pounds apiece. The electro-pneumatic system controlling their operation was so failure prone Bricklin’s boffins had to design a way to exit the “Safety Vehicle 1” via the cargo hatch. To help Bricklin and his investors finance this venture, the entrepreneur convinced the province of New Brunswick, Canada to provide a $2.88m loan guarantee (in exchange for Bricklin’s production facility). Bricklin sold 200 dealership franchises and produced 2854 plastic fantastics. In 1975, the company went into receivership, leaving the citizens of New Brunswick with $23m in accumulated debt.

Ten years later, Bricklin resurfaced on the automotive scene, importing the Yugoslovian-built Zastava Koral under the name Yugo. By 1988, Yugo America was in financial trouble. Bricklin sold his share to Zastava for more than $15m. In 1992, after selling 120,000 cars, Zastava withdrew from the US market. A year later, Bricklin partnered with none other than Lee Iacocca to found the Electric Bicycle Co. The company sold expensive battery-powered bicycles through automobile dealers. In 1995, Electric Bicycle went bankrupt. Which brings us to Bricklin’s latest undertaker– I mean, undertaking.

After briefly considering bringing Zastavas back under a different name, Bricklin journeyed to Wuhu, China looking for a source of bargain-basement vehicles. Finding a willing partner in Chery, Bricklin started making plans to "redefine the price of luxury" by importing an inexpensive line of high-content vehicles into the US market. The company is a joint venture: a 60 – 40 split between Chery (i.e. the Chinese government) and Visionary Vehicles. Bricklin’s deal insulates him from competition; Chinese government regulations restrict American manufacturers operating in China (e.g. GM) from building cars for export. For now…

Bricklin’s plans call for importing a quarter-million units beginning in 2007. His business plan also estimates 100% growth per year for the first several years. If all goes according to plan (hardly a given), Chery’s first export into the American market will be a “BMW 3-Series/5-Series challenger for about $19k,” followed by a two-seat roadster for $15K and a “BMW 6-Series fighter at around $25k.” No less than twenty models are planned for the future, including a hybrid, an AWD sedan and a crossover.

Like many of Bricklin’s other ideas, Visionary Vehicles has hit a few “snags.” Thanks in part to a $2m franchise fee, the company has signed up only 20 percent of the desired 250 dealers. Chery has rescheduled its US launch to late 2008 or early 2009, while Malcolm looks for alternative sources of adventure capital.

There are many unanswered questions surrounding this venture. If Bricklin doesn’t secure 250 dealers, can he proceed? Can he succeed? What effects will recent talks between DCX and Chery re: building a cut price Chrysler or Dodge for the US market have on Visionary’s “exclusivity?” The biggest question is, of course, whether American car buyers will want Bricklin’s automobiles. Undercutting established econoboxes like the Toyota’s Yaris ($11,050) will take some doing. Despite all the talk about BMW's, will Bricklin's Chinese vehicles come with same cheap and not so cheerful stigma that killed Yugo's ambitions? Can Bricklin finally build a viable business? It’s too early to say, but I wouldn’t bet on it.

In 1984, an inebriated Henry Ford II met Victor Gauntlett in a London bar. Gauntlet controlled Aston Martin, a venerable British manufacturer of race cars and gentlemen’s sports sedans. Aston's sales were in the tank and there was no money to develop new models. “For a lousy $15 million, I’d sell the whole thing” Gauntlett said. Ford looked at his drinking buddy Walter Hayes and said, “Wouldn’t that shake ‘em up back in Dearborn?” In ’86, Ford bought 75% of Aston’s shares. In' 94, they bought the rest. Despite the fact that FoMoCo's investment has just come right, it's auction hammer time. So what's next for Aston?

Ford spent billions remaking Aston Martin into a modern car company, complete with reasonably reliable products and a up-to-date design, development, production and distribution process. Aston’s financial and manufacturing problems were resolved, and a few outstanding cars produced. The DB9 and Vanquish, for example, are worthy successors to the DB5’s and 6’s favored by Britain’s most famous (if fictional) spy. This year, after forty years of red ink, Aston finally turned a profit. 

Although the brand gained profitability, something was lost in translation: exclusivity. Last year, Aston Martin sold 4500 vehicles. The company's latest model, the Vantage V8, clocks in at a relatively inexpensive $110k. What’s more (lots more) the company plans on producing 3000 examples of their “baby Aston.” This is exactly the sort of over-reaching brand extension you’d expect from the folks who tried to sell the world a Jaguar that’s a lightly dressed Ford Mondeo and a Lincoln Zephyr that’s nothing more than a tarted-up Ford Fusion. Ford has amply demonstrated that no one in the company save Alan Mullaly (owner of the new Lexus 460) truly understands luxury cars and their rich customers.

Now that Aston Martin is on the block, its new owners should note that the brand’s revival is a relatively simple matter. All that’s required is a quick and decisive return to the upper stratosphere. First, the Vantage V8 should be retired. While car critics have welcomed the model with open arms (aside from our Mr. Shoemaker), there is no evidence that any of these reviews have been written by an enthusiast with an annual income of at least $1m and/or assets above $20m (aside, perhaps, from our Mr. Shoemaker). In a world of affordable Mercs, Bimmers, Bentleys, Maseratis and Porsches, Aston Martin should stand above the fray as an obscure object of desire. In other words, it should be REALLY expensive.

To that end, Aston Martin should take the DB9 ($165k), Rapide ($200k est.) and the Vanquish ($255k) even further upmarket. Ferrari regularly markets cars that cost twice as much as a DB9, and sells every one, often years before they get around to making them. The recent Zagato coupe and the upcoming DBS (only 300 due to be built) are perfect examples of the "car too far" the company should produce. A $500k Aston (or 50) would draw wealthy pistonheads to Aston showrooms like moths to a flame-surfaced BMW.

Next, the moth-eaten showrooms must be upgraded. To their credit, Aston Martin has started to upgrade their dealerships to yacht purchasing levels. But too many Aston showrooms are still annexes to the local Jaguar dealer. Asking multi-millionaires to rub shoulders with plumbers who just bought a $30k Jaguar is simply not on.

Aston Martin should also exploit their heritage. Their rich racing history seems to have been completely forgotten during the Ford years. The Royal connection also needs more play. Prince Charles might be perceived as a bit of an old Fuddy Duddy by young people, but Aston buyers aren’t generally young, and Aston’s Royal Warrant is a literally invaluable marketing tool.

Ressurecting Lagonda is the final part of the Aston Martin revival strategy. Although I recommended killing the V8 Vantage, it could serve as the first Lagonda. A Lagonda that catered to low-end luxury sports car buyers could help preserve Aston Martin's identity as a truly aspirational brand. The marketing strategy worked well enough back when LaSalle introduced less affluent customers to the Cadillac aura, without sullying the Cadillac brand. Today's Maserati is a stepping stone to Ferrari, just as the LaSalle primed buyers for the leap to a Cadillac. A Lagonda to Aston transition would work a treat, for both. 

Ford is reportedly asking $1 billion for Aston Martin. Another valuation, 100 times earnings, would value the English car brand at $1 million. For a price somewhere in between, and a billion or so in additional investment, savvy investors could return Aston Martin to its upmarket roots, beat Ferrari at its own game, merchandise for millions and show Ford exactly what they pissed– I mean, missed.

A couple of continents ago, I owned a coffee table book called “Quintessence.” Each glossy page featured a black and white product portrait: an Oreo cookie, a Steinway baby grand, a Timex watch, Bicycle playing cards, etc. The author posited that these instantly familiar products represent the essence of a thing in its purest and most concentrated form. The book didn’t contain a quintessential automobile, but I reckon a base Porsche 911 or a Jeep Wrangler would have made the grade. Not a Cayenne or a Compass. And therein lies a tale.

Let’s assume that most brands are built on a single, iconic product. When is it OK to extend the brand, to riff on the elements that made the original product such a success and create something new to increase profitability? The obvious answer: when sales of the original product go flat or, worse, flat line. The 911 may be THE Porsche, but sales of the venerable model have tanked more than once– to the point where the German automaker’s independence and survival were seriously threatened. Who can blame Porsche for developing 914’s, 928’s, 944’s, etc.?

Yes, but– the fact that all these models have come and gone is equally relevant. Despite the entrance of the astounding Boxster, the accomplished Cayenne and sublime Cayman, the 911 still gives the brand the luster and prestige that makes Porsche Porsche. When challenged about the development of the Cayenne or the Panamera four-door, the German automaker maintains that new products support the development of their “core” (i.e. quintessential) product. They have both the sales figures and the killer 911 to back them up.

Chrysler wields the same logic. When I spoke to a PR flack about the new Compass, he freely admitted that Jeep’s new “soft roader” wasn’t faithful to “the central brand proposition.” But hey, the new and improved Jeep Wrangler is! He invited me to share his belief that it was OK for DCX to sell a faux off-roader because the company still caters to Jeep customers who want “the real deal.” Jeep fanatics may argue the point, but this twin-track brand philosophy has become the de facto standard industry-wide.

The financial success of automotive brand extensions seems to make a mockery of the traditional counter: non-quintessential products are a short term fix that eventually erode the parent company’s profitability. After all, iconic models like the 911, Wrangler, BMW 3-Series, Mercedes SL, etc. still fly the flag for their manufacturers. And the companies behind these vehicles– and their non-core companions– are healthy and prosperous. And yet brand extensions are an insidious force, like a slowly leaking tire. They gradually waste precious resources where their corporate sponsors can’t see it: design, marketing and service.

Even if a new vehicle shares a platform and production facility with an existing product, it costs tens of millions of dollars to develop. As in Hollywood, the new product’s marketing and promotional costs are often just as high as the cost of design, assembly and distribution– especially when you figure-in the salaries of all the people generating the launch programs and support materials. Service equipment, parts inventories and training drain even more cash. And every new model adds another layer of corporate bureaucracy, which competes with existing fiefdoms, which slows down the whole organization.

More than that, new products take money away from the older core products. You only have to click on a manufacturer’s media site and see the small range of pathetic PR pictures for well-established models to realize that new vehicles get all the marketing bucks. The lack of investment in an automaker’s quintessential car or cars creates a vicious circle: less marketing = falling sales = less marketing = falling sales. The core products get neglected to death: Ford Taurus, Cadillac Fleetwood, Mercedes 190, Rolls Royce Corniche, the entire Oldsmobile line, Buick Park Avenue, etc.

Car companies lucky enough to make a quintessential product should be endlessly and relentlessly promoting them. Instead of building the Panamera, Porsche should get as many people as possible behind the wheel of a 911. There should be six 911’s in every press fleet in the country. Every Porsche dealership should have a selection of 911 loaner cars. By the same token, Jeep should create off-road courses at or near their dealerships and do everything it can to get people to assault them in a “proper” Jeep.

All of these marketing efforts would cost a fraction of the money required to launch a new model. By reaffirming in the public’s mind what makes a given automobile manufacturer great, they would also add to the appeal of any brand extensions flowing from the original, well-loved vehicle. Concentrating on your core vehicle is, in fact, the quintessential business strategy for long-term growth and sustained profitability.

If Mom and Dad had it, we don’t want it. The principle has been an article of faith since homo sapiens first stalked the savannah. Bouffant hairstyles? Brylcreem? Gedoutta here. Eighteen-hour girdles? Puh-lease. When it comes to vehicles, there’s nothing stodgier than Mom's old station wagon. If thirty or forty-somethings think about the genre at all, it’s with mocking derision. From National Lampoon’s “Family Truckster” to That 70’s Show’s Vista Cruiser, the station wagon is the ultimate icon of suburban conformity and, well, blah. It really IS your father’s Oldsmobile.

Station wagons were born just after the turn of the century. Resort hotels shuttled wealthy guests and their baggage to and from the railroad station in large, open-sided motor vehicles. By the early twenties, these “depot hacks” were fully enclosed. In the thirties, the wood-paneled trucks (a.k.a. “woodies”) somehow became a status symbol for America’s gin and tonic set (Country Squire indeed). After the war, the first steel bodied station wagon was suburban by name, suburban by nature. Hundreds of thousands of station wagons roamed the burgeoning 'burbs, proferred by all but the toniest car brands. 

By the early eighties, the genre was kaput. Grown-up baby boomers would rather give up smoking pot than adopt the vehicles driven by their parents– even when their selfish genes forced them into more “responsible” transportation. Sales of the venerable station wagon dried up like a Death Valley rain puddle. Buyers flocked to the mini-van, a suburban version of the hippy love bus, and the SUV, a macho machine that helped them live out Walter Mitty fantasies of long treks through Marlboro country. Now that SUVs are PC pariahs and minivans makers continue to insist on building boring boxes, could American buyers be ready for a rebirth of the station wagon?

Some would say the genre never really died. Mercedes, Volvo and Saab have been building wagons since ever, appealing to a small but gradually increasing fan base of eccentrics, antique collectors and eccentric antique collectors. In 1995, Subaru butched-up their plain-Jane Legacy wagon with bigger tires and an aggressive grille (both obvious SUV cues). Sensibly enough, the company avoided the “station wagon” moniker, fearing that the name would connect the design to Mom and Dad’s vinyl-clad monstrosity. They called the Outback a “Sports Utility Wagon" and sold them by the boatload.

Although the Outback was but a blip on the automotive radar back in the days when SUV’s ruled the earth, it won a devoted following. The Volvo XC70 and Audi Allroad followed in the Outback’s muddy tracks. And now that the Outback and the other “macho wagons” have established credibility (especially in the Snow Belt), station wagons are starting to assume a more prominent role in manufacturers' fleets. The fact that DCX chose to introduce their chop top Dodge Magnum as a station wagon– rather than a four-door sedan– shows that at least ONE domestic manufacturer thinks a station wagon can be cool.

I’ve always believed wagons were God’s chosen vehicles. After all, what can a four-door sedan do that a station wagon can’t? Other than the sedan’s [highly subjective] advantage in the appearance department, nothing. Pistonheads will protest that station wagons don’t accelerate, corner or brake as well as their non-wagon counterparts. And no wonder; manufacturers usually delete the sedan’s high-performance parts from the station wagon's OEM equipment list.  When a station wagon gets the right greasy bits (think WRX, Magnum SRT-8) their performance is pretty damn close to the trunk-equipped version– and they retain the utility that makes a wagon, well, a wagon.

Face it: utility rules. Driving to work is pretty much the same whether you’ve got a sedan, a wagon or a coupe. But try picking up a load of lumber at Home Depot, taking the family camping at Yellowstone or moving a couple of best buds across town. The station wagon’s versatility quickly makes itself known. The way back's extra storage capacity is easily accessible through the wagon's low and level tailgate. With fold flat seats and a mesh barrier (that keeps cargo from turning into ICBM’s), you can stack all and sundry to the roof. And the wagon’s longer roofline allows easier mounting of cargo like bicycles or kayaks– one reason forward-looking car companies market “sport wagons” to young, hip singles.

SUVs, of course, also offer some of these advantages. But they come with excessive size, lousy fuel economy and poor handling. Ah, but has the stodgy station wagon finally jettisoned its cultural baggage? Uh, no. But with the cost of fuel heading hovering around $3 a gallon, an increasing number of American buyers are willing to sacrifice style points for utility. I hate to say it, but maybe Mom wasn't so stupid after all.  

No question, the Ford Mustang is a galloping success. Both the base and GT models are a runaway success, contributing significant revenue to their corporate parent. And now legendary racer, sports car constructor and chili magnate Carroll Shelby is adding some hot tamales to the feed bag. The Shelby Cobra GT500 goes on sale any second now, saddled with a supercharged 5.4-liter V8 good for 500hp. Although there’s little doubt that Shelby’s performance package will be a well-engineered addition to the core car’s strengths, it’s still a case of too much too late.

Let’s Review. For 50 percent more than the MSRP of a Mustang GT, the GT500 buyer gets a supercharger, an intercooler, a race-proven T56 six-speed manual transmission, suspension mods, 18” wheels, wider tires, distinctive spoiler and grill treatments and one whole Hell of a lot of Shelby badging. Oh, and roughly 400 pounds of additional weight, which push this pony car into the Crown Vic weight class. And that’s what I’m talking about: Ford’s decision to add horsepower to the Mustang instead of reducing weight.

It may be a piercing glimpse into the obvious, but Ford could have made a serious performance car out of the Mustang GT simply by shedding weight. In fact, if the 300hp GT lost 700 pounds, it would have the same power-to-weight ratio as the 500hp Shelby GT500. A leaner, meaner, altogether keener Mustang GT would find a willing market, and serve notice to GM and DaimlerChrysler that Ford isn’t going to cede the ponycar market quite yet. There are a number of ways, most of them relatively cheap, to ditch the Mustang’s extra pounds.

Start by eliminating the air conditioning. This lightweight GT (call it the GT-L) would be a potential race-ready road car, not a boulevard cruiser for hot nights in Vegas. If it wasn’t for the Federal standards about defrosters, you might be able to leave off the heater. But even with a heater and defroster, the elimination of the air conditioning unit would drop a lot of mass, and some drag on the engine as well. Next, ditch the power windows. If Ford made the call, its suppliers could come up with a manual window regulator in a heartbeat.

Likewise, lose the electric locks. Real racers can push their own lock buttons down. Ditto for the electric trunk release. Once those are gone, the module that controls these functions and related wiring can also be deleted, saving even more weight. The radio and CD player can also go; the glorious fury of the Mustang GT’s V8 is music enough to a performance junkie. And while we’re at it, deep-six the sound deadening material behind the front seats. And the back seats, rear seat belts and shoulder harnesses.

Ford can use the front fascia from the base six cylinder Mustang, delete the fog lights and save a few more pounds. The cladding on the rocker panels can go, too. Who cares if the tires throw a little dirt on the side of the car? And off with the spoiler. A real racer is going to fashion a spoiler that works, rather than one that satisfies the design committee. Removing the spare tire, jack and tools will also liberate some major heft.

These simple steps would get the Mustang coupe’s weight near the goal of 2600 lbs. Several more radical changes would get the weight to less than 2600 pounds. How ‘bout manual steering? Back to the supplier for a manual rack and pinion gear. This would allow the elimination, and drag, of the power steering pump. A Mustang with manual steering would probably be a bear to park, but pistonheads aren’t going to buy this car for their grandmothers. The final step: kill the center console. This would require some new parts, but the existing console has to be a lot heavier than a few rubber boots around the shifter.

Tweak the car’s suspension, add appropriate decals and there you have it: a Mustang that’s fully competitive with the Shelby version, and a lot better handling to boot. As less is sometimes less, the Mustang GT-L’s development costs would not be prohibitive. Lest we forget Shelby himself jettisoned ballast when he developed the GT350, ‘way back in the 60s. It was a belter that burnished the image created by the Cobra. Porsche, Mazda, Honda and several other manufacturers build lightweight performance cars like these. Even better for Ford, they charge more money for them. That’s a business plan that FoMoCo should latch onto pronto.

Of course, not many people would buy this car. But there is simply no underestimating the street cred a GT-L would generate for Ford and its entire Mustang franchise. Of course, there’s nothing to stop ole Shel from putting his Mustang on a diet…

In a recent Saab TV ad, a fighter jet transmogrifies into a 9-7X. The Transformers shtick tries to convince truck buyers that Saab’s SUV was “born from jets.” There’s one small problem: the 9-7X was born from a Chevrolet. The model’s built in Moraine, Ohio next to (and out of) Trailblazers. And get this. During the transformation the engine rolls down into the engine compartment sideways. Couldn’t the geniuses who made this commercial bother to remember that the Trailblaz… uh… 9-7X has a “north-south” engine, not an “east-west” one like current Saabs? And so car companies continue their assault on pistonheads’ intelligence.

Fuel efficiency is the latest battlefield. Both Toyota’s “Hybrid Synergy” and Chevy’s “we sell loads of cars that get 30 mpg or better” ads may fool most of the people most of the time, but automotive alphas realize both companies peddle vast fleets of gas-guzzling trucks and SUVs. We’re also aware that Toyota would prefer their customers to pick-up a profit-rich Sequoia rather than a high-tech loss leader, while Chevy would more happily put you in a Suburban than one its low-powered, low margin base models. And by the way, when did it become OK for automakers to advertise a vehicle’s EPA highway mileage without identifying it as such? 

By the same token, we must endure car ads which lure us into a patently absurd, alterative reality. How about that Suzuki ad where Joe Businessman leaves a commuter house, kisses wifey bye-bye, dives off a cliff and parachutes to his Vitara? The scenario inspired my teenage son to ask “If the Vitara is so good off road, why does he have to park it way down there? Why didn’t he just drive it home?” Honda’s recent ad for the Ridgeline is equally ludicrous.

A brown bear blocks fishermen driving home. Instead of simply driving past the beast or reversing out of harm’s way, one intrepid camper gets out, fishes a salmon out of the Ridgeline’s in-bed trunk and tosses it at the bear. It’s a good thing they didn’t have a bed full of camping gear; that bear would have had them all by the time Mr. Sierra Club got to the fish. Actually, it’s a good thing Honda’s customers aren’t generally that stupid; otherwise, simple Darwinism would winnow their market in no time.

And then there’s the “silly little fairy” line in the Caliber commercial. Anyone who knows cars, sexual politics or advertising understands that Dodge is gay bashing to macho-up the po-faced hatchback genre. Hummer’s tofu ad makes the same mistake in reverse, fighting a rear-guard campaign against people who see the over-sized SUV and mutter the word “over-compensation.” You know: the guy buys an H3 just to prove to he has adequate OEM reproductive equipment. The original tagline for the commercial was "Reclaim your manhood."  After a few airings it became “Restore the balance.” Apparently they didn’t want to alienate car-savvy eunuchs.

As a pistonhead of a certain age, I know that repetition is the better part of remembering. But how many times can a car mad curmudgeon listen to the faceless voice intone, "It's here, but not forever" about the Lexus model year closeout without wanting to shout “No, it just seems that way”?

And whose idea was it to use bobbleheads in the Jeep Compass commercial? Is the car really so lame The Dark Lords of DCX couldn’t find anything to say about it? While there’s a percentage of the population who’ll nod their heads in unison with their spokesdolls, surely Jeep should make some kind of case to people who are actually interested in cars, rather than assault us with bizarre imagery. Speaking of creepy, how about that Mercedes “Cruise Night” ad with a drag race between Celine Dion and a metrosexual?  Why would a German automaker want to show Americans a world where every single car is a Mercedes? That’s just not right.

It’s time for carmakers to try something novel that won’t insult their core clientele. It’s time for them to tell the truth to the people who know what’s what. For example, an ad for a Chevrolet Impala would show shoppers browsing rows of washing machines, refrigerators and Impalas, choosing the Chevy as their favorite transportation appliance. A Freestyle ad could show a divorced couple actually behaving like a divorced couple, instead of acting as if they’re on a date.

“Dr. Z” would confess that Karl Benz invented the car, not Daimler-Chrysler, and sell the 300 as the finest last gen E-Class Mercedes money can buy (including his beloved rear suspension).  Mazda would own up to the fact that their CX-7 has more in common with a Fusion than with a Miata, and recommend buying a CX-7 because it’s not a Ford. Oh, and no one would ever claim anything based on JD Power survey results.  Then again, maybe not.  

Every time an automotive research firm releases the results of a reliability survey, the focus is the same: who “won.” Firms like J.D. Power only publicly release model-level results for the top performers. Even where these firms release scores for all contenders at the make level, journalists focus on the winners. After all, John Q. wants someone to tell him which car to buy in as few words as possible. In the process, any car buyer truly interested in identifying the best car for their needs and wants gets left in the dark.

Yet few people realize this. It seems so natural to focus on the winners, whether the topic is an election, the NBA playoffs, or vehicle reliability. But let’s play “which one of these is not like the others” for a second. If someone wins an election by one vote, they get the office. If a team wins a deciding playoff game by one point, they get to move on to the next round. And if you buy the car that won an award by one point, you get…what?

In most cases, you do not get the car that best suits your needs. When evaluating a car, most people care about more than whether or not it’s the least likely to break. They’re also likely to be concerned about how it looks, how it drives, how well the seat fits their rear and more. Often the award winner isn’t nearly as attractive, as fun to drive or as comfortable as a competitor. Tradeoffs are a necessary part of the purchasing process.

Most reliability surveys provide dot ratings– with unspecified ranges of reliability– for the non-winners. But without the actual, precise scores for all the contenders, trading off quality against other factors is impossible. Buy the award winner and you’ll have a pretty good idea of how much style, performance, or comfort you’re giving up. But you won’t know how much “quality” you’re gaining in return. Say it’s one dot’s worth. Well, how much is that? Unfortunately, to make a wise choice, you need to know.

In a basketball game, a basket at the final buzzer can and should be the deciding factor. The closer the game, the more exciting it is to watch. But vehicle reliability isn’t about entertainment (though the news stories that cover the awards may be). The closer scores are, the less they matter. And the scores are often quite close.

In J.D. Power’s 2006 Initial Quality Study (IQS), 30 of 37 makes fell within two-tenths of a manufacturing defect per car of the average. The difference between number three (Toyota) and number 32 (Hummer) was 0.27 problems per car. In J.D.’s most recent Vehicle Dependability Study (VDS), 23 of 37 makes fell within half a problem per car of the 2.27 average. Only four makes— three of them domestic— bettered the average by more than half a problem per car.

Real-world problems occur in wholes. A car cannot have 1.79 problems. So Toyota’s VDS score of 179 implies that the typical Toyota has two problems in its third year. And Ford’s score of 224 implies… much the same thing. Buy a Toyota over an alleged “Fix or Repair Daily” car, and you gain no guarantees, just a middling chance of avoiding a single additional problem in the third year.

No one gets all hung up on vehicle reliability to avoid a single additional problem. Most consumers simply want to avoid buying a lemon that’s in the shop “all the time.” Well, reliability scores based on averages don’t help. Say we’ve got two basketball teams. On one, the average height is 6'5”. On the other, the average height is 6'7”. Which team has the most players over seven feet? Using averages alone, it’s impossible to say.

Time to buy a car. You know the award winners, and not much else. Play it safe and you’re likely sacrifice style, performance or comfort to maximize your odds of having one or two fewer mechanical problems. Ignore the surveys and there’s no telling how much car trouble you’ll have. Maybe none at all. Maybe a lot. The research firms know. But they’re not going to tell you. They only provide potentially helpful comprehensive data to corporate clients willing to pay the big bucks. 

Hang in there. My website, TrueDelta , is committed to clarifying how cars differ in reliability, from the "best" right down the “worst.” We’re working hard to collect unbiased real-world data on your behalf. And TTAC can always be counted on to go beyond the superficial story. (How many critiques of J.D. Power’s methodology have you seen in the mainstream automotive press?) Someday soon, you’ll be able to identify the car that best suits your needs and wants— without playing a guessing game that’s stacked against you.

Timing is. Everything. Case in point: Toyota is about roll out its re-designed Tundra. The full-size pickup represents a huge investment for the automaker, including a brand new factory deep in the heart of Texas. By all accounts, the new Tundra will hit the market just as “lifestyle” load luggers have left the building, abandoning the genre for smaller, more fuel efficient machines. But as bad as Toyota’s timing may be for their corporate aspirations, it's worse for the so-called domestics.

It’s no secret that the majority of The Big Two Point Five’s profits (such as they are) come from SUV’s and pickup trucks. Nor is it a revelation that the enormous profits generated by the genre during the last two decades enabled their short-sighted product lethargy. Now that America’s truck optional buyers are leaving their gas-guzzling leviathans in droves, the Big Two Point Five are feeling the pain of putting all their eggs in a truck-shaped basket.

The Mustang is the only main-line car generating significant profit for Ford, and both GM and Chrysler are building direct competitors. DCX has the 300 and the Caliber, but their product mix is still heavily skewed towards SUV’s and pickups. GM is thoroughly truck-dependent. All three companies are busy retrenching, slicing production to match the new marketplace realities. All are incurring huge costs. When it comes to their line of profitable pickups, none are looking for a fight. But a fight is what they’re gonna get.

Many industry types scoff at the prospect. Toyota has been selling full-size pickups of one sort of another for over a decade, without great success. Nissan’s Titan jumped into the fray a couple years ago, to equally modest sales. Their failure to crack this money rich market segment begs the question: what have The Big Two Point Five done right?

Possibility one: the so-called domestics make great trucks. Despite general problems with vehicle quality, the Big Two Point Five have managed not to create a large pool of angry pickup truck buyers. Sure, they’ve built some duds, but nothing dire enough to alienate customers. The foreign owned automakers’ “full size” pickups have also been rather smaller, to no great advantage.

Possibility two: loyalty. The so-called domestics tout loyalty as their trump card, and concentrate their attention on beating each other up. But loyalty hasn’t kept foreign-owned automakers from making inroads into the compact pick-up business. And it hasn’t stopped Toyota from overtaking Ford in the overall U.S. sales chart.

Possibility three: luck. It’s not what Ford and GM have done; it’s what Nissan and Toyota haven’t done. Until now, Toyota and Nissan haven’t built the right products or added enough production capacity to build a significant number of pickups trucks.

Toyota is set to attack on all fronts. The company has spent hundreds of millions of dollars to create a Tundra that’s a match for the industry leader, the Ford F150. The new Tundra is bigger and stronger; more macho, durable and comfortable than any previous Toyota entry. If that isn’t enough to lure brand loyalists, Toyota will do whatever it takes to recoup their investment. With new American production capacity north of 250k units per year (and room for more), Toyota will react to market indifference by launching a price war.

There are two main reasons profit margins on pickup trucks are so high: supply and demand. In the last few months, U.S. pickup sales have tanked, flooding dealers with product, forcing incentives, driving down margins, slicing profit. The injection of tens of thousands of new Tundras into the market will surely accelerate this trend. Toyota’s non-union cost advantage, their never-say-die, take-no-prisoners attitude and their deep pockets all guarantee that it's only a matter of time before they undercut prices and force the so-called domestics’ to pare pickup profits to the bone.

Initially, the fleet sector may see the most action. On its home turf, Toyota puts a lot of energy into grabbing fleet clients to sew-up market share. Fleet buyers are far less brand loyal than private buyers; business owners are far more amenable to rational arguments. You can bet Tundra salesmen are busy boning up on their cost of ownership charts.

Truth be told, the so-called domestics are well-positioned to stave off the threat— at least in the short term. Their pickups may be mechanically simple, but they’re highly evolved with more than reasonable reliability. No matter how good Toyota’s Tundra or low its price, conquest sales will be a bitch. But The Big Two Point Five are vulnerable; they can’t afford to fight on price. They need every pickup truck buck to fund their new product plans. DCX may not suffer badly (for now). But Ford and GM are so cost-heavy, cash-starved and product deficient that fierce pickup competition could mean that their time at the top of the heap is finally over.

While GM and Ford continue their slow-motion fall from grace, Audi’s headed in the other direction. The German automaker’s U.S. sales are up, moving towards record levels. The company has a raft of new vehicles on dealers’ lots and more models on their way– from mid-market entry level models to the new TT roadster to the R8 supercar. Audi’s interiors are still the industry standard for design, fit and finish. They’re modifying their distribution system to increase customer choice and reduce dealer inventories. So is all well with Audi?  Yes and no.

Continuing on the yes side, Audi is poised to introduce a range of diesel powered vehicles into the U.S. market. The move comes just in time to meet pent-up demand for high mileage vehicles capable of exploiting federal “clean diesel” regulations, and may include a headline grabbing, brand-burnishing, diesel-powered sports car (the TT). At the same time, Audi has the fuel-efficient engines it needs to stay in the hunt for sales of luxury sports cars, hatchbacks, wagons and sedans.

Audi may also have discovered the “next big thing:” mid and full size hatchbacks. The American market has moved from SUV’s (with true off-road capabilities) to CUV’s (cars masquerading as SUV’s). The jump from CUV to hatchback is a logical progression (foreshadowed by the now discontinued Audi Allroad). Whether by luck or design, Audi’s ready. For model year ’09 / ’10, every model in Audi’s lineup will have a hatchback version, including their biggest model, the A8. Audi’s bread and butter A4 will be available as a sedan, wagon and hatchback. So what could go wrong?

Although Audi is well past the “sudden unintended acceleration” PR disaster that threw the company’s U.S. sales into reverse during the 80’s, reliability is the marque’s new bugaboo. While sister VW’s recent quality problems are well known, Audi owners have also been plagued with their unfair share of mechanical ailments, often without satisfactory resolution at the dealer level.

The problem is reflected by Audi’s dismal performance in JD Powers’ reliability surveys. As a direct result of these issues, Audis suffer frightening depreciation; negatively affecting leasing rates and new car sales. It’s a problem that must be sorted at both the factory gates and on the sharp end– the sooner, the better.

Meanwhile, Audi faces some important branding questions. For example, when three Audis recently received the Insurance Institute’s highest crash test rating, the company advertised the fact on TV. Since when is Audi Volvo? In fact, what is an Audi? While Ingolstadt makes some sporty cars, BWM still have that spin spun. Quality? Lexus. Prestige? Mercedes. Bargain? Infiniti. Bargain barge? Cadillac. Quirky? Acura. When you’re trying to make your move in the highly competitive luxury car market, you need to stand for something.

For years, Audi’s Quattro four wheel-drive system has been the industry leader. Audi has added the world’s slickest paddle shift/automatic transmission (DSG) to the equation. They also possess one of the best engines: a dependable and punchy four cylinder 2.0-liter turbo. If you combine Quattro, DSG and the 2.0T, you create an incredibly resourceful machine. The car can tackle severe weather conditions with confidence, deliver an exhilarating sporting experience on dry roads and waft with automatic ease in traffic. All this and entirely reasonable gas mileage.

Instead of publicly proclaiming their vague, boastful and indefensible “Never Follow” mantra, Audi should be touting themselves as master of the “practical sports sedan.” While the two-seat TT has carved a nice little niche for itself, blessing the brand with metrosexual glamour, and the R8 looks to be a terrific halo car, the company’s fortunes surely lie within its core competency: sure-footed sporting automobiles.

More specifically, Audi should concentrate on building and importing the “shooting brake” (a.k.a. sportback) concept car introduced at the Tokyo Motor Show. If Audi equipped the sportback with DSG, a 230hp version of the 2.0T powerplant (or a diesel) and Quattro four wheel-drive, they’d have America’s most versatile and practical sports car. With marginal restraint (so to speak), the sportback could generate significant U.S. profits.

Instead, Audi’s unleashed the Q7: a late-to-market, aesthetically-challenged, gas-guzzling SUV. What’s more, even though U.S. SUV sales are tanking (including arch rival Porsche Cayenne), Audi’s committed to expanding their SUV line to include the slightly smaller Q5 and smaller still Q3 SUV. The move will win few converts, dilute the brand’s message (such as it is) and distract them from their main mission.

Audi has some terrific products. But the way the company has used its tools does not bode well for their future. Audi doesn’t seem to understand its current strengths, or know how to carve-out a path to greater sales and profitability that takes advantage of those strengths. Like Detroit, Audi needs to do a little soul-searching and renew its focus on its “real” identity: fun-to-drive four-wheel drive sedans.   

Speaking of sports utility vehicles, consider the philosophy developed by Jeremy Bentham. Utilitarianism identified pain and pleasure as the only absolutes and declared that “whatever brings the greatest happiness to the greatest number of people” is, well, great (even if it isn’t so great for the people who don’t make the cut). By this standard, America’s gas-guzzling SUV’s were once a very good thing; the lumbering behemoths brought the majority of American motorists tremendous, not-to-say guilt free pleasure. And then, they didn’t. And now Detroit’s feeling the pain.

In July, GM’s truck sales slipped 31.2%, Ford’s fell 44.8% and Chrysler’s dropped 41%. Obviously, the whole SUV thing is on the skids. Sure, thousands of Big Three executives and middle managers continue to hold a candle for the genre, hoping against hope that America’s automotive “fickleness” resolves itself, so that the gold rush can resume. But any rational person knows that the winds of change have blown that candle out. Any car company with a truck-heavy sales mix, any automobile manufacturer without a competitive line of cars, is, as they say, shit out of luck.

Baby, baby, baby; where did our love go? The simple answer: gas prices went up and truck buyers bailed out. The more accurate answer: Americans were bored of their SUV’s long before triple digit refills. The rising cost of gas simply cranked-up the average SUV buyer’s automotive ennui. I mean, why pay a premium at the pump for something you’re not so crazy about in the first place– especially if it’s trying to kill you. Yes, there is that. I reckon SUV’s music died when the Ford Explorer burst tire rollover debacle debuted. The genre’s Marlboro Man image was revealed as something of a cruel joke. Customers started asking questions.

Like what the Hell am I doing driving an SUV? Take away the SUV’s mantle of invincibility and all you’re left with is a large, tippy-over feeling, fuel-sucking vehicle that’s not very good at carrying kit and caboodle and damn hard to park. Obviously, some buyers drove SUV’s because they were the best vehicle for the job, a cheap way to tow, ford (small f) and schlep through challenging terrain and conditions. But the majority of SUV owners were simply indulging in an automotive fad. When the vehicular fashion statement was [literally] up-ended by thoughts of death, it was only a matter of time before it completely lost its luster.

Even as the SUV boom boomed, the media and social groups sowed the seeds of its demise.  They demonized SUV’s for their lack of safety (and killer prows), environmental damage and prodigious thirst. It was the anti-fur thing all over again: a small group of highly motivated activists forcing a sea change in public perception. The anti-SUV groups’ one-two-three punch set ‘em up, gas prices knocked ‘em down.

These days, the SUV’s owners face a new problem: how to ditch their trucks when everyone else is trying to do the same. Trade-in values on SUV’s are so low they’re laughable– unless you happen to hold paper on one. Which creates a vicious circle; if you get burned on your old SUV, you sure as Hell ain’t gonna buy a new one. As hard as it is to believe, Detroit has an even bigger problem than how to coax SUV buyers out of their old rigs into a new one without giving all the trucks’ profits away. Now what?

Now nothing. The Big Three’s mainstream products are on a three year development cycle. We’re not even a year into Detroit’s realization that yes, SUV sales have tanked and they ain’t coming back. (“We’re selling Tahoes as fast as we can make them” Bob Lutz. 3.1.06) While the automakers are rushing new cars and strange beasts (i.e. crossovers) into their lineups, hoping to catch the “next big thing” before they’re sucked into Chapter 11 or divestiture, these non-truck products must compete against lean, mean competitors who own the car market lock, stock and market share. And as much as they’re trying, the Big Three can’t simply shut off the SUV spigot. Inventories of unsold SUV’s will get a lot worse before they get any better.

What a travesty. While American liberals feel vindicated at the mere mention of the Bush administration’s “intelligence failure” in Iraq, few auto industry reporters have made much of Detroit’s abject failure to anticipate the shift away from SUV’s. This despite the fact that all three Detroit automakers shell-out tens of millions of dollars to Armani-clad consultants to detect, analyze and forecast consumer trends, to create forward planning. Clearly, Detroit no longer knows how to bring the greatest happiness to the greatest number of American consumers.  And that means that they're not so great anymore.

When Alfred P. Sloan took the reins at General Motors, he had a clear vision of the company’s future: “a car for every purse and purpose."  Sloan’s business model– offer customers a wide range of vehicles across distinct brands and encourage them to move “up” within the portfolio– was wildly successful.  GM soon replaced Ford as US market leader, and never looked back.  Ninety years later, the same structure is in place, but the car market has changed.  And GM’s portfolio is part of the problem, not the solution.    

While most enthusiasts recognize the philosophy behind Sloan’s GM brand structure, few realize that each company within the GM fold used to have just ONE car in its line-up.  Even during the 50’s, in the middle of GM’s “golden years,” each brand had no more than two wheelbases and three body styles.  With such a limited number of models within each brand, overlap was minimal.  Moving “up-market” was simple enough; you took your old car and your new money to a different dealer.  

When GM started adding new models, expanding their offerings to cover bases like “compact car,” “utility vehicle” and “minivan,” they altered the dynamics of their business.  Despite this horizontal model spread, GM tried to hew to a vertical brand system.  Buick and Olds stayed true to their roots, offering two to three big cars (aside from the Cadet experiment).  But Chevy and Pontiac became their own worst enemies.  Chevy dealers currently sell over a dozen different vehicles over a wide spectrum of price points, from $10k econoboxes to a wide range of pickups to $70k sports cars.  At the same time, Pontiac’s place in GM’s firmament has become unclear.

The problem isn’t so much the sheer spread of vehicles– most companies’ “main” brands spread as far.  The problem is that Chevy is still selling only discount cars, even though it embraces up-market price points.  GM’s other divisions also have a discombobulated product mix.  Pontiac exists in the gaps above each Chevy price point.  Cadillac is still perched at the top of the market, but their line shows little commonality (save a bit of “bling” here and there).  Product overlap is endemic for all divisions.  Actually, it isn’t so much overlap as “strangulation”.  Chevy is trapped under the new trinity of Pontiac/Buick/GMC.  For every Chevy, there’s one or more up-market counterparts it dare not exceed. 

Where once you chose your GM car with your pocketbook, now it’s more a matter of taste.  GM’s website illustrates the point perfectly; enter a price range into the “shop by price function” and you get a list of differently-sized models and vehicle types across several brands.  If a GM car buyer wants a certain type of vehicle or a vehicle at a given price, they have to shop at least two and quite possibly four GM brands’ dealers to see all their choices.  Otherwise, they could end up being steered to an inappropriate vehicle– and we all know what that does to a brand. 

Acting like it’s still 1955 has left GM with a huge product line that’s full of holes, along with “boutique” brands scattered about like polka dots.  This so-called strategy’s lack of focus robs Chevy of the quality it needs to be a reasonable alternative to the price-sensitive end of their “foreign” competition.  It restricts Pontiac, GMC and Buick to marketing cars “better than Chevy” (a standard that keeps slipping lower).  It detaches Cadillac, Hummer and Saab from the ownership ladder.  In fact, GM’s brands don’t just steal sales from each other; they pull each other into a pit of mediocrity.    

GM’s oversized dealer network makes the problem worse– and solutions problematic.  One answer: make some of the marques into models.  Instead of trying to keep Buick and Pontiac alive with a tiny line-up and a huge dealer network, GM could fold their products into Chevy’s portfolio.  The top trim sedans in the largest two sizes could be called Buicks, while a Pontiac would denote a performance model (the GT’s not the SS’s).  GMC could go back to its commercial customers.

To make this realignment fly, GM would have to transform all Chevy and all Pontiac/Buick/GMC dealers into Chevy dealers, all selling the same full line.  The remaining single-marque dealers would be retired (a more affordable prospect than killing the two networks).  Of course, there would be a severe dealer shake-out afterwards; only the strongest Chevy stores would survive.  But that’s no bad thing. From a corporate perspective, the biggest loss would be less presidents, a smaller ad budget and a less burdensome bureaucracy (oh darn). 

This brand consolidation would allow GM to offer a car for every “purpose” and most “purses” under a single roof.  Alfred Sloan would spin in the grave at the idea, but it just might work. 

Whatever else you can say about the Chevrolet Corvette, it isn’t a halo vehicle. Yes, it beats the Hell out of anything in its class and out bang-for-the-buck’s the big boys. But there’s not a single enthusiast driving around in an Impala SS thinking, "Oh yeah — I got the same AC vents as a 'Vette." In terms of appearance, the Avalanche resembles the Corvette about as much as Paul Giamati looks like Keira Knightley.  Contrast this with the Porsche Carrera GT. Despite the astronomical price gap between the GT and an entry level Boxster, the family face is intact and the underlying product philosophy is identical: speed, handling, fun.  That’s why it’s time for GM to use “America’s Sports Car” as the basis of an entirely new division– with Nissan.

Here's my pitch: merge The Jackal’s finest whips with Rabid Rick’s meanest metal.  Pull every Nissan and GM two door with a powerful front-mounted engine driving the rear wheels into a new Nissan/GM performance division. Sitting atop the heap: the 7.0-liter Z06.  Even without considering the stroked, supercharged 650+ HP "Blue Devil," the Corvette has finally surmounted its “also ran” status to achieve respect and admiration (unlike, say, the Aveo).  If ever a car deserved its own brand, if ever a model possessed the gravitas needed to carry a new company on its broad shoulders, it’s the Corvette. 

Half a rung below the mighty Vette: Nissan’s GT-R (nee Skyline).  The upcoming Japanese supercar may lack the Vette’s historical importance, but its gonzo performance rep would give the new division added glory.  And it would provide an answer to Porsche's exhaust-fed, AWD Turbo. A low-weight two-seater with 450hp driving all the wheels and a Nürburgring-fettled chassis equals major craziness. In fact, the GT-R might deliver enough performance to rival the Z06. Hang on; two cut-price uber-cars on the same team competing in the same niche?  Damn straight.

This is where the new division would have to be smart. They mustn’t neuter their model lineup to fit some rigid stepped marketing strategy, Zuffenhausen-style (i.e. the most powerful Cayman has less power than a stripped 911). Let all the division’s cars be their own mighty selves. With both the Z06 and the GT-R in the same showroom, GM/Nissan would offer performance-minded consumers a one-two punch that few contemporary carmakers could counter. The rest of the sports car ratpack would have to take the threat seriously.

Of course, the tricky part is deciding what to sell further down the food chain. The Chevrolet Camaro and the Nissan Z are natural enemies– unless the Z is re-fashioned to resemble a baby GT-R. Nissan’s versatile FM platform is already set up to handle four wheels a 'turning (think G35x and FX).  Re-engineering the Z to put power at all four corners wouldn’t require a major investment.  A $30k AWD Z could do some damage to entry-level Boxster and Z4 sales. But wait!  There’s more!  The new division could bring out a twin-turbo Z, cranking out 350 to 380hp, stoking fond memories of Nissan’s early 90’s whip.  It could be the ultimate budget supercar– or at least throw down the G-force gauntlet to the nutso Mitsubishi EVO and Subaru WRX STi.  

The Camaro is less complicated proposition. GM/Nissan’s boffins could wedge an unadulterated, unmolested and unrestricted LS2 engine into a stretched FM chassis (M45 showing the way) and stick with the prototype's show car good looks. A 505hp LS7 powered line-topping Camaro would follow quite nicely, thanks. A $40 -$45k bitchin' Camaro ain't gonna cannibalize Corvette or GT-R sales any more than Boxsters and Caymans eat 911 orders. Furthermore, while no Shelby GT500 customers would seriously consider a Z06, they’d be all over a Camaro with a Z06 engine.  

To round out the new Corvette Division, GM/Nissan would of course need a variant of the "Hey, that looks like fun" Solstice GXP, both in hardtop and convertible form. If they added the normally aspired Solstice into the mix, the performance brand’s lineup would run the gamut from $20k entry level cars to world-beating supercars. Two of them.  Hell, the new division could go for broke (hopefully not literally) and bring back the mid-engined Fiero to take on the Lotus Elise.

For the next 90 days, Rabid Rick and The Jackal are obliged to explore possible “synergies” between the two car making, continent-straddling giants. Instead of nudge-nudge wink-winking about “unused plant capacity” and pretending that the UAW doesn’t exist, these two [non-Nissan] titans should stop playing kiss – chase, combine forces and create something world class.  Separately, GM and Nissan both make great sports cars. Working together, they could make the best.  Forget all that talk about corporate synergy. What these companies need is sinergy.  A brand new Corvette Division would provide the sex-on-wheels halo both companies need.

My favorite car name of all time is the Honda Life Dunk.  But I can fully appreciate pistonheads whose taste in automotive monikers runs more towards the aggressive (Mercury Marauder, Plymouth Fury, Aston Martin Vaquish), animistic (Dodge Viper, Pontiac Firebird, Ford Mustang, Reliant Kitten) or snoberific (Buick Regal, Dodge St. Regis, Buick Park Avenue, Chrysler LeBaron).  As Chris Paukert noted in a previous TTAC editorial, automakers have submerged the [formerly] mission-critical name game into a watery alphanumeric soup.  The inanity of this approach is exemplified by Ford's decision to rename the Lincoln Zephyr the Lincoln MKX, and instruct its dealers (as of today) that the vehicle is not to be called a "Mark X" but an "em kay ex."  Are car names inherently better than simple numerical designations? What's your favorite and least favorite car name? Would a Ferrari F430 or Jaguar XK120 by any other other name be any more or less memorable or desirable?  

A new TTAC podcast feature is born: a conversation with a car salesman about what's going down on the front line.  We begin with my go-to Porsche guy, Kirk Stingle.  Kirk's been selling Porkers for 10 years, establishing a large fan base of devoted buyers down in Southern New England.  When the Cayman S first arrived at the permanent construction site known as Inskip Porsche, Kirk told us that the mid-engined tin top confused a lot of Boxster and 911 buyers. According to the man with the million dollar smile, there's still a bit of a bun fight amongst the models.  And it's getting worse, what with a smaller-engined Cayman and bigger engined Boxster due soon.  But who cares?  Sales are up across the board. You pays your money, you gets your Porsche. 

Noticed any Sprinters lately?  Not the kind that burn-up your local running track; the boxy, diesel powered Sprinter vans sold by Dodge and Freightliner.  If you’re a typical enthusiast, these vehicles are less likely to appear on your automotive radar than a Toyota Camry.  But the Sprinter should have been on Ford’s radar.  The commercial vehicle represents a rapidly growing market segment that DaimlerChrysler is busy claiming for itself. That’s a couple of hundred thousand trucks a year, with good margins.  Gone.

Mercedes launched the Sprinter in 1995.  The model arrived in a myriad of guises: crewbus, panel van or pickup; standard or high roof; with a choice of three different wheelbases and engine choices; and three window and seat configurations.  Freightliner first assembled the Euro-friendly Sprinter in the US for FedEx.  Chrysler now builds them and sells the machine through its Dodge dealers.  The Sprinter’s also found a following amongst civic groups and people who want a box on wheels to schlep seven kids, two dogs and four potted plants.

Another design coup by DCX?  Hardly.  Ford has been building a similar vehicle for some time.  The Transit is Ford’s Euro-spec commercial van, and it’s a huge success.  European commercial fleet magazines have given the Transit rave reviews.  People who’ve driven both rate the Transit superior to the Sprinter in many respects: user flexibility, seat configurations, number and position of doors and windows; the availability of various lengths and heights. The Transit is available in both front-wheel drive and rear-wheel drive, and offers an even wider array of diesel and gasoline engines than the Sprinter.  And the Transit’s flat bed and dump box options trump the Sprinter’s iteration count.

In short, the Transit is a worthy and logical competitor to DCX’ workhorse: a vehicle with all the versatility, economy, safety (ABS standard from the git go) and reliability America’s tradesmen need to help keep the country’s economy strong.  No wonder, then, that the United Parcel Service (UPS) started enquiring about a US version of the Transit for their enormous fleet.  Ford had a close and profitable relationship with UPS; the Blue Oval Boys supply the underpinnings for most of the parcel service’s brown, meat-loaf shaped trucks.  And yet Ford, awash in SUV profits, hung up the phone.  That was six years ago.

A year later, DCX’ announced that they were bringing the Sprinter into the US. Again, Ford chose to ignore the threat to their domestic market share and cold shoulder their easily-accessible potential response.  This despite the urgings of many mid-level managers in FoMoCo’s commercial truck division.  Again, the guys in brown repeated their request for a Transit.  Again, nothing doing.  Ford was concerned that a successful Transit might steal the sales from the Ford Econoline: the vehicle that dominated the US commercial van market for decades.   

This myopia has, once again, proved to be another lost opportunity for Ford.  Not only did DaimlerChrysler sell Sprinters to FedEx and other commercial users, but even American tradesmen are deserting Ford’s Econoline for DCX’ Sprinter. The square Sprinter is now seen all over suburbia, serving the men who service the furnaces, appliances, garage door openers and all the other appurtenances of suburban life.  A few early-adopters even bought them for personal use. DaimlerChrysler, having monopolized the minivan market for decades, now stands to own the boxy van market as well.

And now, even the men in brown have deserted Ford and equipped their delivery drivers with Sprinters. Perhaps they simply tired of asking Ford for a Transit of their own. The Ann Arbor area has at least four UPS Sprinters; UPS is putting them on the road all across America. GM’s refusal to enter the fray makes some sense; they don’t have a competitive product and they’ve got a lot more pressing issues to worry about (meeting the payroll, staying one step ahead of the bill collectors, etc.).  FIAT, Renault and Peugeot have similar products, but none of them have a US distribution network or name recognition.

But Ford has everything: a terrific product at a great price (most Transits are constructed in a hi-tech, low-wage Turkish factory), a strong reputation in trucks, and a stellar dealer and service network.  And just in case you’re thinking that the Transit isn’t sufficiently “American” for the job, clock this: as part of Alex Trotman’s Ford 2000 program, the Transit was designed and engineered in Dearborn.   

Ford’s product development team has shown themselves increasingly incapable of making more than a handful of products that appeal to large numbers of buyers. Now Ford marketing has shown themselves incapable of supplying an existing product to customers who are literally asking for it.  I’m sure there are plenty of “good reasons” for their reticence.  I’m equally sure they're turning a slam dunk to a game losing around-the-rim-and-out.