Steve's Crap Car Of The Day

FORD EDSEL 1958-60

You can’t write about crap cars and not mention the Ford Edsel. That’d be like writing a piece on short-legged, small-‘tached, bulgy-eyed, fascist dictators of the 20th century and leaving out Adolf. Nope, no car in the history of the world has gotten as much bad press as the Ford Edsel.

There are a couple of reasons for the enormity of its crapness.

The main reason is that it’s a classic case of over-selling and under delivering. Prior to its launch, Ford sent out teaser campaigns affording only glimpses of the car and when it was finally delivered, new Edsels in the dealership showrooms were covered by a tarpaulin. The car was also named after founder Henry Ford’s son Edsel, further implying what a big deal this car must surely be.

In fact Ford hyped the Edsel up to such a degree that the Yanks were pretty much expecting a car that could fly, make one of them new-fangled cappuccinos, and park itself at night.

Imagine then their immense disappointment when they realized the car wasn’t much more than a boring old Mercury (Ford’s sibling company) in disguise.

It was then that the more celebrated reason for the Edsel’s demise began to gather momentum. Look at the grill… look sort of vaguely familiar? Yes, it is indeed a giant chrome vagina. Once the idea is planted in your mind, it’s tough to throw off isn’t it? Oh yeah.

And that, car fans, spelled the end of the Edsel. Ford only managed to shift 84 000 models, less than half their break even target. It’s estimated Ford lost about $350m ($1.5b in today’s money). Spare a though too for poor Edsel Ford – a man whose name would be forever be linked with a shiny chrome va-jay-jay.

LOOK AND LEARN

No doubt that South Africa’s hosting of the FIFA World Cup 2010© (there you go Sepp) has taught us many things.

On me personally, it imparted 5 learnings.

1. My cat is either psychic or an octopus in disguise. Boebie – we named him after a Woodstock gangster (long story) – was the subject of a little domestic experiment. Emulating the famous exploits of Paul Der Kalamari, we decided to see if Boebie could also predict the outcome of the final. On one food bowl we stuck a Spanish flag, and on the other a Dutch one. In each the bowl we put a spoon of tuna. And in front of both we put Boebie.

He headed straight for the Spanish tuna. And when he finished that he polished off the Dutch. Proof then that besides the fact that he’s a total glutton (and embarrassingly fat for a cat), Boebie has incredible powers of prediction, for as we all well know, the Spaniards are now world champs.

2. Fake tickets work. They get you in. Someone might be sitting in “your” seat, but there’s always a spare seat going somewhere.

3. I need to get back into the gym. I took my 7-year old daughter to watch Portugal play North Korea. We had great seats. In the second half we sat behind the Korean goal – sort of diagonally to the left. Which meant that 6 of the 7 Portuguese goals were scored right in front of us. Which meant that every time the Porras scored, or came close to scoring, everyone in the stands stood up. And that meant that every time this happened I had to jump and host Holly above above it all for her to catch the magic.

By the end of the game I was sweating profusely and could barely lift my hand to scratch, or pick, my nose.

4. The vuvuzelas were great. They added to the Great SA World Cup Vibe. Unless there was one right behind you in the stands. Then you wanted to punch your fellow football fan.

5. Budweiser is crap beer. Despite a determined sampling exercise, I have reached a firm conclusion. Most beers start to taste ok after the second. Not with Bud, bud.

DA SMITHY CODE... decoding the sport soundbyte

Bok coach Peter de Villiers on why he is such a together guy

It’s not “almost” too easy having a go at Peter de Villiers… it is too easy. Of course, that’s never stopped me before.

Pete had this to say ahead of the Boks’ Tri-Nations opener against the All Blacks on Saturday (you have to get the high-pitched, winey accent right)…

What he actually said…
“I am a strong individual, a strong character, and I don’t care what people think or say about me, because it is what I think about me that counts, and I love myself a lot.”


What he actually means:
“I tried really hard to explain myself to people, but they kept pointing at me and laughing. Especially Bakkies Botha. I tell you there are only so many times you can sit at a press conference explaining your very detailed analysis of this great game of rugby… and then watch people slap their thighs laughing. As I said, especially Bakkies Botha.

It can bring a man down. All the therapy seems to helping a lot though.”

Steve's Crap Car Of The Day

PONTIAC AZTEK 2001 - 2005
This makes the list solely on its looks. I don’t care if it handles better than Lewis Hamilton’s McLaren, this is probably the ugliest car ever made. In fact it’s a contender for the ugliest object ever made.

It’s horrific. It looks like one car is emerging from within the bowels of another. It’s the Alien of cars. It’s a horror movie with four wheels and an internal combustion engine. Not even the Devil would drive it (he’s a Toyota Prius guy, obviously). It was the stuff of nightmares and scared the beJesus out of a generation of US kids: “Mommm! I can’t sleep, there’s a Pontiac Aztek under my bed!”

Interestingly – or maybe weirdly – the original Detroit Motorshow concept Aztek didn’t look all that bad. Still crap obviously, but not as catastrophically crap as the production version turned out to be. Detroit beancounters destroyed any slim chance of success the concept might’ve had by insisting it be built on an existing minivan platform, making the production Aztek taller and narrower than its progenitor. And that was enough to tip it from the very edge of quirky into the very centre of eyeball-hemorrhaging ugly.

Some revisionist-history nutters have suggested that the reason for the Aztek’s demise was that it was ahead its time… that the world wasn’t quite ready for a mid-size urban SUV cross-over. Oh they were ready. They just weren’t ready for the Aztek. There were audible gasps when it first appeared in Pontiac’s showrooms. We’re talking the type of gasps followed by screams and the slap-slapping of running feet…not applause.

With epically misguided hopes of selling 50 000 to 70 000 units a year, by the time Pontiac humanely put the Aztek out of its misery, less than 30 000 in total had been sold in 5 years.

Come to think of it, the car was doomed from the get go. What kind of karma do you expect a car to have being named after a bunch of people plundered, butchered, and diseased out of existence by a posse of hirsute Spaniards in tights and breastplates? There was freaky voodoo going on with this car, I’m telling you.

Steve's Crap Car Of The Day

GENERAL MOTORS EV1.... 1996-1999


Conspiracy theories abound as to the demise of the world’s first mass-produced electric car. There was even a doccie about it called “Who Killed The Electric Car” I think it even made the movie circuit here.

Why? Because In 2002 General Motors terminated the leasing program and huffily took all their cars back.

And why did they do that? Because, say the conspiracists, General Motors knows who butters its bread. In this instance the holders of the blunt knife were the petroleum giants and, say the Conspiracists R Us, it was they who pressured GM into whipping the cars off the road.

Umm… ja… actually… no.

The real reason was that the car was totally crap.

And GM knew it too. Why else would they only lease the 800 or so cars they made to chosen citizens in California and not have the bollocks to actually sell them?

There were, in fact, several levels to its crapness.

1. It looked like a car wearing a balaclava.

2. It was first released with lead-acid batteries. Which basically gave it the carbon footprint the size of a small town when you consider what it takes to mine the battery’s contents… and then dispose of it when the car was scrapped

3. The second gen. nickel-metal hydride batteries were greener… but they took 8 hours to charge. And they only provided a marginally improved mileage…

4. ... which was the car’s biggest problem. With the gen 1 battery you could probably get 90km out it. Gen 2 would give you 120km. Woohoo.

Basically then you had a car with enough amps in the tank to get you to the shops and back… Plus it kinda looked like its pants were falling down.

The EV1's final Stamp Of Crapness came when GM reclaimed all their EV1s. As if to obliterate all traces of this useless automobile, they crushed most of them save for a couple donated to museums (with their drive-trains disabled).

The whole exercise cost GM $1-billion. One. Billion. Dollars. Seriously.

DA SMITHY CODE... decoding the sport soundbyte

Spanish coach Vicente Del Bosque on misfiring striker Fernando Torres

“Fernando has not been helped by the team not clicking at times, but we’re very happy with his work.”


What he actually means:
“Si, Fernando has been crap – he does play for Liverpool after all – but I have to justify his continued selection based solely on the chance he could re-reproduce a moment of that European Cup-winning magic. Who cares if, at the moment, it looks as though he couldn't score with just Robert Green to beat, at least it looks like he’s running around the field a lot.

Diego Forlan stole my wife… aka... Oh Christ, I’m 40

Saturday was my mate Paul’s 40th. Poor bastard. His face mirrored the conflict clearly tug-of-warring inside his head. “Christ, I’m turning 40… It’s OK, it’s not that old. You’re a man on top of your game…. Christ I’m turning 40…It’s OK, it’s not that old…etc”

I know this because I had the same look on my face when I turned 40. Look at the photies and it’s as clears as day. Actually most days it’s still on my face. Anyway, besides the fact that were both now in our 40s, Paul and I have few other things in common.

One, we’re both keen mountain bikers (except he’s really good), we both have an affinity for alt.country/new folk music (I remain for ever grateful for the introduction to Midlake and Fleet Foxes), and our spouses are both artists. In fact they share a studio.

So there we all were at Speedway Café celebrating Paul’s birthday. Even though I’m a sports writer by trade, I only had half an eye on the soccer (it was the Ghana-Uruguay quarterfinal). Mostly I was talking to my mates, many of whom I don’t see as often as I should.

When Diego Forlan scored his great free kick, us guys were like “wow, impressive goal… you know I still haven’t heard the new Wilco album, pass the peanuts.” Suddenly though, my attention was caught by the conversation behind me. It was a knot of woman – the wives and partners of us men folk. And they were talking animatedly about the football. And one of them was my wife.

Cue textbook double take.

In a more subtle kind of way, I leaned in closer. Was the FIFA World Cup’s influence so great that the majesty of football had finally become a topic of interest to these women? And remember, these women weren’t just any women. These women are the stylish, arty, highly intelligent types. The types who us blokes still can’t believe find us dufuses (dufi?) attractive. These are the same women who usually don’t give sport the time of day, and only allow us to watch so much of it as an act of benevolent indulgence.

And what were they talking about?

*Woman 1: “Another great goal by Diego.”
**Woman 2: “Yes, isn't he so talented... and so strangely attractive.”
***Woman 3: “Hmm yes. Strangely attractive.”

Suddenly I’m not enjoying the football so much any more. Nor feeling any better about being 40.


*, ** & *** In the interests of self preservation, not even North Korean noodle torture would make me divulge actual names.