Once upon a time the majority of new cars had these funny things called carburetors, devices that would dump into a motor some guesstimated amount of leaded fuel that would mostly combust before being ushered through the catless exhaust and into the lungs of the guy behind you. During this time those fancy automatic transmissions were a dammed expensive option, so the car in your driveway most likely had four speeds that required you to work three pedals to direct drive to the rear two wheels. During this time, also referred to as the Mid-Sixties, that driveway might have been occupied by that sweet, new Rambler powered by a 290ci ‘Typhoon’ V8. Or maybe you wanted to be a little different and parked-up a nice Barracuda with a more sedate but adequate Slant-6.
Or…maybe you went with one of them there foreign jobbies.
Mid-engined, fuel injected, open topped, and available only with a manual transmission. Such a feature list is music to my ears. Music that sounds nearly as good as the horizontally opposed engine that powers this normally unloved canyon carver.
Is it a Porsche? Yes. Does it have a numerical designation? Yes. Is it a 718 Boxster?