Now that The Big 2.8 have paid the mother of all bribes (a.k.a. a $29.9b health care VEBA) to the United Auto Workers, now that the automakers can pay their workers lower rates, they're supposedly going to start "insourcing" parts production. The Freep takes one example– Ford's decision to produce instrument panels for the Taurus and Lincoln MKS in-house in Chicago– and calls it a trend. Yes, well, Sarah Webster says the move to take back parts production will hurt suppliers; The Big 2.8 use it as [another] stick to beat them up on price. And even if Webster's wrong about insourcing, outsourcing will continue– to Mexico, China, India, Ant frickin' Arctica. This. Is. Madness. The relationship between a manufacturer and its suppliers must be one of friendship, good will and mutual profit. To hammer down your suppliers on price to the point of bankruptcy and then move your business elsewhere is to cut off your nose to spite your shareholders. Wait, here's the key bit… eventually. At 4pm today, a federal judge will rule whether Chrysler can remove mission critical tooling from its supplier. No matter which way this goes, the chickens are coming home to roost. 

Although TTAC hasn't posted on the new Knight Rider TV series– why would we?– I still felt obliged to watch the premier on your behalf; just in case the show did something so stupid it deserved mention here. Other than the fact that a Ford Mustang GT500KR couldn't outrun a Ford Edge, and KITT lived in a world populated entirely by Ford products, and the "shape shifting" KITT always transformed into a lower-priced, different colored Mustang (now there's a disguise), and a Ford commercial featuring both the lead actor and the lead car confused me as to which was the commercial and which was, uh, the longer commercial and… where was I? Oh yes, I missed gay KITT. KITT's new voice sounded like a "nice" HAL 9000 (i.e. monotone without the menace). Can I have a plausible plot line KITT? I'm sorry —- , I'm afraid I can't do that. (What WAS that character's name?) If the producers of this snoozefest had taken their cue from the original show (or, better yet, Woody Allen's Sleeper) and camped-up KITT, they would have had a major HITT on their hands. There were hints; the chief baddie's makeup-accented cheekbones and over-plucked eyebrows identified him as a closeted cross-dresser (which isn't necessarily a gay predilection, but you know what I mean). I will say this: the babe had nice eyes.  

As Detroit heads for its inevitable meltdown, The End of Days keeps throwing-up a whole bunch of weird shit. For example, I was watching one of those creepy Chevy ads where an African American spokesmodel tries to convince a bunch of severely underage car buyers that Chevy is gas-friendly (which cracks me up, 'cause Chevy SUVs just LOVE gas) to gas-free (which also cracks me up, 'cause even the theoretical plug-in Volt will use gas). In this one, the actor asks the kids if they like riddles (which cracks me up, 'cause it reminds me of Peter Grave's immortal line "Do you like Gladiator movies Johnny?). So… "when is a car not a car?" "When you can't sell it for love nor money?" a pixie-faced child replies. (Just kidding.) "When it's an SUV!" the unsupervised adult informs. "What the fuck are you talking about?" a child chosen for reasons of ethic diversity demands. (Just kidding.) The spokesmodel tells his charges that the conundrum involves a GM hybrid SUV chosen as "Green Car of the Year." "But it's an SUV!" an indignant rug rat bleats. (For real.) The spokesmodel provides the logical explanation: "I guess it's smart." Why would GM draw its customers' attention to the fact that it doesn't deserve an award? I guess they're dumb.

So here I am, grimacing as I down the backwash of my umpteenth Diet Coke, trying to stay on top of the automotive news flowing through the blogosphere, knowing that I've got to edit Brock Yates column, upload Jonny's STI review and tweak Glenn's blogposts. Wondering when the Hell I'll write a GM Deathwatch. And it doesn't look like I'll EVER attend to all the e-housekeeping BS and clear either of my inboxes. All of which worries my OCD like one of those stupid pop songs. And yet, while I struggle with information overload, Manny Lopez, the heretofore unknown (at least to me) Automotive Editor of The Detroit News, decides to devote an entire column to the death of the muscle car. Hang on; didn't Scott Burgess columnize on that very same subject, what, three days ago? Although Lopze tips his editorial hat to Burgess, the suit says nothing new on the subject– and says it less well. My theory: the death of the muscle car has become something of a touchstone for Motown's macho men. If you want to be a real "car guy," you have to beat your breast about the trend away from hairy-chested V8 machines. Well screw that. As Jonny Lieberman demonstrates in this podcast, there's nothing wrong with loving both "fire breathing" rear wheel-drive iron and way cool fuel miserly city cars. The fact that two car reporters for the city's newspaper of record don't "get it" tells you a lot about that town's culture– and its future.  

[Justin Berkowitz is MIA. No doubt he will surface eventually.] 

Frank Williams is a retired USAF Lt. Colonel. William C. Montgomery is a credit card executive. PJ McCombs is a third grade teacher. Justin Berkowitz is studying for the bar. Donal Fagan is an architect. Glenn Swanson is an information technology specialist for a school in Connecticut. Michael Posner and Casey W. Raskob are attorneys. Samir Syed is a chartered accountant. Megan Benoit is a computer security specialist. Jay Shoemaker runs Francis Ford Coppola's food and beverage businesses. Sajeev Mehta is a project manager for a software company. Alex Dykes is an IT administrator. Matthew Neundorf is an operations manager for Fraco Products. Paul Neidermeyer is a landlord. Martin Schwoerer is a business/regulatory consultant. Brock Yates is a legend. Stephan Wilkinson is an EMT. I'm tired. And Jonny Lieberman is welcome back to his spiritual home. 

I agree with GM Car Czar on a number of points. First, we both believe that CAFE regs are like forcing middle-aged American men to wear plaid pants and high-heeled shoes. (Or something like that.) I'm also down with Maximum Bob on global warming. Well, sort of. While I don't consider the idea "a crock of shit," I favor a wait-and-see approach. Keep adding millions of vehicles to the planet's surface. If the Earth is significantly warmer in a hundred thousand years or so, point taken. What's that you say? By then it will be too late? Yes, and by then I'll be dead. There's another point of intersection between myself and Maximum Bob: we're both selfish bastards. Mr. Lutz' exhortation to struggling GM dealers to "suck it up" clearly reveals he couldn't care less about the fate of the cry-babies attempting to sell his employer's products and thereby put money in his pocket. Why should he? Maximum Bob's already got lots of GM money in the bank and lots more on the way. Not to coin a phrase, fuck 'em if they can't sell my cars. By the same token, I couldn't care less about my writers' opinions. Oh wait, I do. I guess there's a difference between being outspoken and being the hole though which excrement flows into a ceramic receptacle. 

In his raucous yet rambling history of the American west, author Hampton Sides reveals the surprising fact that the Confederate Army didn't lose their Western campaign in glorious battle. According to Blood and Thunder, they lost their war in Apache Canyon, when a Union commander named John Milton Chivington stumbled upon his rival's supply train. Chivington's men rapelled down the canyon walls and overcame the camp's defenders. He then destroyed 80 wagons' worth of supplies and some 600 horses and mules. And that was that. It was only a matter of time before the largely Texan force limped home, starving, sick, beaten. Flash forward to Detroit. Experts say that Chrysler's Plastech debacle– a dispute which threatened to sink the entire company– is only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. As many as two dozen key automotive suppliers could file for bankruptcy this year. Their demise is down to the domestics' belief that their competitive future depends on outsourcing parts-making to low-cost foreign countries. Maybe so. But only a fool abandons (or lightly guards) his vital supplies before securing a new supply. Think Detroit's ready for a U.S. supplier meltdown? Obviously not. More to the point, isn't there anyone in Detroit who knows how to fight?  

One of the nice things about having a tightly-focused brand– complete with an explanatory tagline– is that you know when to say "no." Pontiac: We Build Excitement. Minivan? No. Crappy coupe. Uh-uh. Mercedes: Engineered Like No Other Car in the World. Cheap shit downmarket decontented sedan? Nope. Crappy coupe. Nein! Cadillac: The Standard of the World. Rebadged Chevy? Yeah right. Cheap shit front wheel-drive sedan? I don't think so. Of course, we all know that Pontiac, Mercedes and Cadillac all ignored Nancy Reagan's admonition and built cars that made a mockery of their brand remit. Less well recognized: all three automakers chose to change their taglines rather than face-up to their mistakes and return to their roots. Look at the struggling car companies and faltering  brands– Ford, Chrysler, Lincoln, Mercury, Saturn, Pontiac, VW, Buick, etc.– and there's one thing that unites them all: they don't have a clue what they should be building. Until they fix their branding, they will never fix their business. Not building bad products is just as important as building good ones.

I was thinking about Justin's bang-for-the-buck blog and Frank's By The Numbers report. It occurred to me that the autoblogosphere is ruled by numbers. Horsepower, sales per month, number of comments, unique visitors per day, and so on. Which is kind of funny, as I have less aptitude for math than a Himalayan yak. My love for cars is visceral, not digital. When Justin investigates the $/hp equation, my mind turns to thoughts of coffee and bookmarks that dare not speak their name. But when he mentions the Mustang GT, I can immediately hear the roar of that V8. I can feel the gear knob vibrating in my hand. I can remember my sense of disappointment, as the engine ran out of puff ("Oh C'MON. We were just getting STARTED"). When Frank mentions the Dodge Durango, I recall the horrendous smell of the car's plastics assaulting my nostrils. I can hear and feel the glove box lid lock struggling to catch, dammit. And then I saw Autoblog's diss of in.pro's "make your econobox sound like a supercar" Virtual-Motor. "Worst. Accessory. Ever." made fun of the aftermarket inventor's attempt to relieve cash-strapped pistonheads of tinny engine audio Hell, or maybe experience a brief if cod moment of automotive aural sex. It made me shake my head. Numbers are the map. But they are not the territory. 

It's hard to describe the feeling a newsman gets when he's covering a big, breaking story. Sure, there's an element of ego gratification, a sudden, heightened sense of self-importance. But when push comes to shove and the world as we know it suddenly tilts on its axis, a real reporter feels humbled by events. Now I'm not going to equate Chrysler's dalliance with disaster with the end of the Vietnam War, 911 or any of the other momentous events I've witnessed as a jobbing journo. But make no mistake about it: when old Detroit judders to a halt, it will be a big story. American business will change forever. Of course, you could argue that it's already changed. That Detroit is the last relic of a bygone time, when men wore hats to work, smoked cigarettes and succeeded in business without really trying. But you don't need me to tell you that inefficient, Detroit-style enterprises still exist throughout this great land, in every field of endeavor. When GM, Ford and/or Chrysler throw in the towel, it will sound the death knell for the rest of the dinosaurs, marking the end of an era as surely as Richard Nixon's resignation. If you watch closely, you will see a gradual realization that humanity's second wave, mass production, is finally being replaced by something infinitely more sophisticated. One door will close, another will open. God willing, TTAC will be there to watch it happen. It is the best of times, it is the worst of times. 

A couple of years ago, I expected the United Auto Workers (UAW) to sink The Big Three (as they were known at the time). Scanning the situation at bankrupt parts supplier Delphi, I thought the union would strike rather than accept pay cuts and kill Detroit. Either that or Detroit would pay them off, burn all their cash and die. I didn't envision the creation of a $37b UAW slush fund (a.k.a. a health care VEBA) that would "convince" the bosses to surrender their members' future without a fight. But I did note that Delphi's bankruptcy was a bad omen. If GM's own former division couldn't make money building parts for Detroit, what hope for other suppliers? And if the suppliers went under… As today's Chrysler factory shutdown proves, a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. For decades, The Big 2.8 (as they are now) have beaten-down their suppliers. Their constant abuse has turned "partners" into adversaries. It's this relentless pursuit of profit — at the expense of human decency– that's poisoned Detroit's relationship with its paying customers. And now, as Chrysler faces the consequences of their sour supplier relations, the situation proves an adage that informs all my analysis of Detroit's inexorable slide into bankruptcy: as you sow, so shall you reap. Or, if you prefer, payback's a bitch.  

Rhode Island is one of those New England states with regular mill fires. Every now and then, someone torches the abandoned husk of a once-mighty factory, an eerie edifice from a bygone era nestled by the river of some obscure town. Even after they burn, often in spectacular fashion, the mills don't fall down. Back in the early part of the last century, construction technology was relatively crude, and amazingly robust. Post-conflagration, you're left with relics no less profound than Europe's abandoned cathedrals. The mill walls stand tall; the scope and scale of what was remains obvious. Of course, these days, the mill fire victims are bulldozed into oblivion, so that insurance companies and land developers may be satisfied. As I watched this video of a Chevrolet plant smokestack crumpling to the ground in Muncie, Indiana, it angered me that a confederacy of dunces has allowed the American automobile industry– the American automobile industry– to "escape" to Mexico, South Korean, Australia, Belgium and elsewhere. Unlike the mill fires, this local landmark falls to the ground like a prize-fighter who walked into a vicious right hook. And here, there are no remains. Only a pile of bricks to remove. It is the silence of this finale that scares me. To my eyes, it symbolizes the fact that The Big 2.8 and their legion of American workers are dying with a whimper, not a bang. [thanks to John for the link]

I know; TTAC has no business taking GM Car Czar Bob Lutz to task for stomping on political correctness. And anyway, Maximum Bob's challenge to readers of his fastlane blog to out-run the police in a "Blue Devil" ZR1 Corvette is a joke. But this website is keenly aware of our power– real or imagined– to influence young and impressionable pistonheads. So we don't advocate or celebrate hoonage. And if you've detected a slightly angry not to say profane tone to our work (ya think?), try and remember that it comes from a place of love. Love of honesty. Truth. And we love the fact that Bob has a playful side. But it's a little worrying that the guy who has to get the entire GM global empire to build green machines that meet or beat new mpg requirements– that meet or beat the competition in terms of sales– happily reveals himself as a lover of high horsepower toys. And it's a bit scary that Maximum Bob doesn't understand his influence on his "people." But the real question is this: where is Bob's love of truth? The man has a longstanding habit of spinning, ducking, diving and conniving. The caption to Bob's blog post says "Your Worst Nightmare." For hundreds of thousands of people dependent on Bob Lutz' product plans, their real nightmare is that the man in charge of GM's fate is a belligerent, clueless relic of a bygone era who longs for a simpler time, when outrunning the cops was a bit of a hoot. [thanks to Kurt B for the link]

I should have given the back office boys a week's notice that I was posting Mr. Yates' work on TTAC. But I am acutely aware of this medium's forté: immediacy. The idea of holding onto a blog post, car review or editorial for longer than 24 hours runs counter to the nature of the beast. In fact, minutes after I have a piece locked and loaded, my trigger finger gets itchy. After getting the copy on Sunday, I decided to soft launch Brock's piece on Monday, and then announce it to the world (via a press release) on Tuesday. Monday went fine. At about 2:30pm today, the pistonhead population woke-up to Brock's return. The resulting traffic over-whelmed our servers. Reto and the Boffins rushed to their e-first aid kit and found some band-aids. We're now back up, ready to rock and roll. As for Brock's next piece, we discussed a column on Carlos Ghosn's prediction that one of The Big 2.8 is about to go bust. Obviously, I agree with the Brazilian. Mr. Yates thinks Carlos is "a clown." If that's where Brock wants to go, that's fine with me. There is no party line here at TTAC. Not for Brock Yates or any of TTAC's current or future writers or commentators, who built the foundation for the Yatesian meltdown. And for that, to all of you, thanks. 

"At its core, the film is about a struggle between old and new power. In precisely that fashion, Audi represents the rise of a new force in luxury." God I hate hype. I don't blame Scott Keogh, Audi's chief marketing officer, for trying to build some anticipation for Audi's Godfather-themed Superbowl ad. If their ad– which will only air twice— doesn't cost them the better part of $10m, it won't cost them a pfennig. But c'mon guys. It's a TV ad, not a Francis Ford Coppola meisterwerk or the Declaration of Independence. Try as I might, I can't think how Audi is about to "redefine luxury." I find it hard enough to define luxury, never mind come up with a new concept for the term. As far as I'm concerned, Audi can claim to build luxury cars by dint of the brand's peerless interiors– and that's about it. (I want you should do me a favor. Do not speak here of the brand's reputation for building unreliable automobiles. I don't want its mother to see it that way.) And you know what? It's enough. Really. He who builds the world's best interior wins. Ipso facto. 'Cause other than Quattro, I see little else that elevates the Audi brand above Lexus, Mercedes or BMW. So why not just tell the world you build the world's most comfortable carcoon and call it good? Why not reaffirm your brand values rather than redefine them? The word I'm looking for here is… hubris. Or is it hype? Same thing.