The Porsche 911 is 'idiotic' to some, so why do I find it so captivating?
What is it about the 911 that continues to captivate? Meaden has some theories
If you’re a regular reader of this magazine or listener to the evo podcast, it won’t have escaped your notice that we have a collective ‘thing’ for Porsche 911s. Of the core team I’m probably most guilty of this apparent favouritism. But then ownership of a 964 for the last two decades doesn’t help to dispel my perceived fanboy status. In this regard I stand guilty as charged.
Sometimes even I begin to wonder whether I need some kind of detox or treatment to reset my system after so much exposure to the Zuffenhausen virus. The trouble is, with a very few exceptions, 911s are just so darned good. Especially if your publication’s ethos is The Thrill of Driving.
> Porsche 911 (992.2) review – the 911 for the digital age
This isn’t to say we’re blind to our habit of repeating ourselves like a broken record. Statistically speaking the 911’s notorious dominance of our annual eCoty test is somewhat overstated, having won ‘only’ 12 times in 27 years, yet we’re always painfully conscious of any 911 being a shoo-in.
In many respects this makes it harder for the 911, because in trying to be impartial we probably fall foul of the so-called favourite-longshot bias, in which people tend to overvalue contenders with an outside chance of doing well and undervalue the one with perceived higher odds of success. Last year’s eCoty is a prime case in point, the 992 S/T being far from a unanimous winner amongst the judges, but still nicking it. And by a margin so small our appalling arithmetic skills (there’s a reason we’re content creators and not hedge fund managers) couldn’t possibly have rigged the scoring.
You’re all familiar with the consistent areas of praise we shower upon the 911. Feel, balance, poise, engagement, performance. The cohesion with which all the ingredients are blended. The precision with which each attribute is honed. The satisfaction that comes from feeling it all come together along a great piece of road.
I had the pleasure of spending time with two very different 911s recently. The ludicrous yet fabulous Manthey-kitted 992 GT3 RS, and a gorgeous 1980s G50 3.2 Carrera. These cars – utterly different in age, ability and objectives – inadvertently highlighted the 911’s other trump card. Nuance.
With each successive generation Porsche has expanded the 911 range. When the original 2-litre six-cylinder 901 was launched in 1963 there was but one variant. Fast-forward to the current car and that number had grown to no fewer than 25 variants in three different body styles and spanning every use case from boulevard cruising Cabriolet to ’Ring bashing RS.
Until GM took the dubious decision to bring 66 years of unbroken front-engined lineage to an end by switching to a mid-engined layout for its C8 Corvette in 2019, the American icon was the only sports car to have a longer bloodline than the 911. Now only Ferrari’s mid-engined range, which began with the V6-engined Dino then switched to V8 power from 308 to F8 Tributo before returning to V6 with the 296, offers comparable continuity. But neither Corvette nor Ferrari has demonstrated such bandwidth or remained at the top of its game so consistently.
Quite why this is I have no idea. Given the quirky – some would call it idiotic – engine positioning and Porsche’s consequent battle to defy the laws of physics, it seems extraordinary that a car born with such a fundamental disadvantage should become one which every sports and supercar-maker benchmarks for its dynamic attributes.
Of all the different 911 generations I’ve probably spent least time in the classic ’80s G-series cars. Frustratingly, the only 3.2 I’d driven previously was clearly a bit of a duffer, as it left me with the impression they were a bit pendulous and dull-witted. How wrong could I have been! Such is my new-found love that it might be time to think about bidding farewell to the 964 RS and experiencing a different side of 911 life.
Speaking of which, if the 3.2 is sublime then the Manthey 992 RS is all kinds of ridiculous. Yet in its own way it demonstrates the 911’s endless potential for improvement – even in a car that has already had its pips squeezed in factory-standard form. To go to such extreme lengths is something only Porsche seems prepared to do. There’s no doubt the end result is too much for the vast majority of 992 RS owners, especially those who spend more time on the road than they do on the racetrack. Yet for those who live for trackdays, and the Nürburgring in particular, it manages to amplify the RS’s character and crystallise its ultimate capabilities to create the most hardcore road-legal 911 ever. The perfect two-car garage? I think you know the answer.
This story was first featured in evo issue 333.
