Here are the rules: all hands. Mano a mano, fist versus fist. Some may also kick or elbow—if you’re only using the abilities of your own bodies, I’ll allow it. No weapons allowed, however—leave the AR-15 and the throwing stars at home, Pierce-Arrow bros. Now which defunct automaker’s owners would win?
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Automotive history is full of also-rans, has-beens, re-brands and mergers, with the chopped-off nubs and stumps of various corporate family trees each having their own unique sets of fans. Let’s start a fight.
For this pointless exercise in e-machismo and gross stereotyping, let’s limit this big fight to any nameplate that is no longer sold worldwide. Willys owners can come pretend they’re G.I. Joe behind enemy lines because no one sells a “Willys” anymore. However, the Citröen faithful cannot, as you can still buy a new one in other countries, and we’d really like to leave them unharmed so we can get our hands on their 2017 rally car. (Please?)
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Personally, I think the Pontiac owners would win, and not because they have a black belt in some obscure martial art they studied in a year off-the-grid. (That’s more likely to be a Saab thing.) No, it’s because the people who now gravitate to the marque of my first car tend to be less predictable than most. Do you really think the owner of a 1999 Pontiac Sunfire cares about fighting clean?
Those G.I. Joe fantasies of hopping out of the Willys and saving the world would not be coming true, as these fellows spend more time fixing their antique vehicles than they do studying the finer points of hand-to-hand combat. International owners might come close, but tetanus spasms would take them out of contention soon.
Meanwhile, there’s a reason why our buddies at Hooniversenamed the Pontiac Grand Prix GTP the “JuggaLambo.” If you see an Insane Clown Posse running-knife-guy on the back window of a car that smells vaguely of Faygo, cigarette smoke and crushed dreams, chances are, it’s one of General Motors’ less prestigious models.
For ages, Pontiac was billed as the everyman’s performance vehicle, and as they’ve aged, their plastic-cladded later models have fallen into the hands of third-gear-pulling freeway hooligans. “Driving excitement” all too often translated into lukewarm dressed-up versions of the Cavalier. The seasoned classic car collector who spends the bulk of his automotive spare time polishing his classic GTOs (plural) is not who wins this fight.
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No, it’s the bulk of crappy Pontiacs whose owners just ain’t care who will win for the Grand Chief’s noble yet dead brand. Thus, Pontiac owners get my vote my vote as the clear winner of this fight because they’re the most likely to be on methamphetamine and resort to biting. Our too-polite Nash-Healey fans will cry foul at the use of teeth, but technically, it’s legal. Dirty, but legal.
What say you? Who do you think would win the Battle of the Dead Brands? And don’t try this at home. We’ve got our eyes on you Th!nk-types. Don’t even think about it.
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