As a teenager and budding muscle car enthusiast, there were cars that simply people just didn’t build. Cars that were so unanimously “uncool” that you had to be a total knucklehead to consider any number of these machines anything other than a pile of clunky plastic or a smog-bogged ’70s disco box. We loved muscle cars, and there was something about “rich Corinthian leather” that just didn’t scream “American muscle” to us.

My high school car, a true split-bumper LT Camaro looked like a much cooler ’70 with the optional RS egg-grate grille, relocated turn signals and polyurethane surround, but its 350 was choked with more California smog-compliant garbage, A/C plumbing, and power options that all the coolness of a second generation Camaro was buried under the rubble of a lame-o-lanche.

I was firmly steeped in the common belief that the beloved muscle car suffocated under the tyranny of OPEC and the Federal Government after the 1971 model year, the last year of the HEMIs, high-compression 454s and Cobra Jets and Six-Packs.

Anything beyond that was marker of a slow decent into mediocrity, save for the occasional blip from Pontiac desperately fighting against the system. God bless Pontiac for trying so hard.

The spirit of the muscle car was completely reversed by the year I was born. Apparently, a general malaise overtook America during the Carter administration, because cars like the Charger, Road Runner, Corvette, Mustang and Chevelle were weird, distorted carnival mirror reflections of their former selves.

The ‘Runner, originally launched as an entry-level performance machine for 1968, was clogged with poorly executed interior doodads and a spectrum of body decals. The Corvette sorta resembled the C3s from the end of the 1960s, but performed more like a Corvair from the same year. The Charger, born on the tall banks of NASCAR tracks, now competed with entry-level luxury brands Mercury and Oldsmobile, replete with opera windows. For shame.

We can't imagine the Duke boys wants to slide through the windows and take this for spin. Heck, we can't see Boss Hogg driving this tank.

The 1980s fared little better. Big and boxy lead to angular and almost flagrantly unaerodynamic, but with a mean, almost sacrilegious tint. A new generation of 4-4-2 and Hurst-equipped Oldsmobiles underwhelmed those who remembered Linda Vaughn and the white and gold H/Os. The absence of the Chevelle lead RWD two-door sedan Bowtie loyalists to the Monte Carlo SS. It’s ironic that the coolest car from the Regan-era was a Buick.

It’s really been in the last fifteen years that Detroit has figured out how to build modern muscle that not only meets current emission and MPG standards, but meets and often surpasses the performance of the greats from the muscle car era, almost as if American automakers collectively shrugged and said, “Yeah, we built quite a bit of crap for ten years. Sorry ’bout that.”

With this new surge of next-generation muscle, a strange trend has emerge which I am none to happy with. “Classic” no longer means what it used to.

Maybe it’s the fault of “New Coke.” When a sweeter, more Pepsi-flavored Coca-Cola hit the market, fans of the original formula revolted, rushing grocers and liquor stores, hoarding up as many cans and bottles as they could purchase. It was like a post-apocalyptic world where punk rock bikers murdered for the next tank-full of “go juice” was replaced by diabetics in Rascal scooters.

Watching its stock plummet like a cement truck dropped from the rear door of a C130, Coca-Cola went on the defensive. Trying to salvage what little brand goodwill was left, the company released “Coca-Cola Classic” as an alternative. “Classic” quickly erased any evidence that “New Coke” existed, and veritably redefined the word “classic” as “old.”

Today, kids (whom I reason as being 30 years old or younger) are confusing “classic cars” with “old” cars. Younger enthusiasts, believing they’ve made the score of the century are showing up in message forums boasting that their classic FoMoCo touts a worn-out 460 big block and a C4 gearbox. I’m sorry buddy, but just because the ’77 Ford LTD you found is older than you by 15 years, does not make it a classic. It’s just old.

“Classic” is a loaded word. By definition, it implies value on a scale of levels, both in regards of rarity and commonly-held appraisal. Moreover, classic – particularly in the realm of classic cars – denotes a degree of cultural significance. During the period of when America’s love affair with automotive performance turned sour, it’s hard to look back at those days and say, “Man, that Plymouth Volare sure was bitchin’.”

What the hell was I thinking, anyways?

I made the mistake of publicly razzing ’84 El Camino one day, and was promptly verbally beaten to death by what I can only imagine as the “G-Body Preservation Society.” Short of the ACLU calling for my resignation, I was completely befuddled that so many people had such a deep affection for what I can only imagine as the final and ultimate “You might be a redneck if…” joke. Looks like I’m wrong…again.

While I still have personal reservations towards the nose styling, I’m a big believer in the new R/T and SRT8 Chargers. Even with its four-doors, the new Charger embarrasses every – let me repeat that – every previously produced Dodge Charger before it in, again, every performance test. Yet, when I call it a muscle car, I am immediately attacked.

Internet troll: “How dare you call that piece of crap grocery-getter a muscle car! You’re an IDIOT.”

Me: “While you make a good point, it does run twelves, sits five, and stops quicker than a BMW 5-Series.”

Internet troll: “ARRG! It’s got FOUR-DOORS! ARE YOU BLIND?”

Me: “Yeah, I know. It’s really not my thing either, but heck, it even looks a lot more like a ’68-’70 Charger…from the A-pillar back, at least. Actually, I’ve been pretty outspoken about the four doors for a while…”

Internet troll: “FOUR-DOORS! COUNT ‘EM! FOUR!”

Me: “Agreed. There are four doors. But it makes 470 horsepower naturally aspirated and gets 31MPG. That’s pretty cool, right?”

Internet troll: “OMG! PROLLY VOTED FOR OBAMA DID YOU, YOU COMMIE!”

Me: “…”

Your choice of 390 or 470 horsepower, RWD or AWD, a 6 or 8-speed automatic gearbox, and performance that rivals the legends from over 40 years ago, the new Charg-HAS FOUR DOORS! WHARGARBL!

This leaves me to rethink what is considered a cool classic car. For ages, I believed ’79 Malibus, ’84 Cutlasses, ’75 Novas, and ’82 Corvettes were boring, unexciting crap, and were, from best that I understood, the cars people bought to either eviscerate into gutted race cars or scavenged for the odds and ends.

Today, with the misconception that “all the cool cars are bought up” (I found a pretty straight ’68 Nova in a neighbor’s side yard while driving around Saturday afternoon. I find stuff like this all the time), what am I to think? Is any RWD, V8-powered domestic a classic muscle car? I’m sorry, but I can’t get myself to believe it. Maybe I’m just not that tolerant. I guess it’s time to call the ACLU after all.

Light ’em up,
Kevin