The Manual Transmission Gospel: How I Lost Lamborghini and Found the WRX
by Brent “Zhivago” Antonson
My dream car for 45 years is now a dead issue.
I’m scorning Lamborghini like a betrayed lover. I invested my youthful ego in it—posters on walls, engine sounds in my sleep. But now I drive off in a cloud of righteous Subaru smoke.
And if I sound preachy? Good. This is a sermon. This is the gospel according to clutch and gear.
🛑 The Death of Fahrvergnügen
If you drive an automatic, you likely don’t know what “Fahrvergnügen” means.
It’s German for “the joy of driving.” The pleasure of connection. Of being in control.
But you don’t get it. Because you’ve never had it.
In Canada, you can’t even rent a manual anymore—it’s like finding a unicorn working at your local petting zoo. Meanwhile, in Europe, they still know. They understand what it means to drive. To feel the road through the clutch, not just float along.
Fahrvergnügen is the religion.
And I? I’m its roadside preacher.
💀 Lamborghini: The Fall of a Dream
Let’s rewind.
Lamborghini. 1987. A British man buys his wife a Countach. She won’t learn stick, so he commissions a custom automatic.
I remember reading that and scoffing so hard I nearly downshifted my spleen. That was the day the brand lost its soul—and didn’t even notice.
Fast forward to 2020: Lamborghini ditches manual entirely. “The horsepower is too high for humans to shift fast enough,” they say.
You cowards.
You built racecars for people who can’t race. Supercars for the valet queue.
“Here’s a million-dollar car. Please enjoy your sterile, automated trip to boredom.”
They forgot what made them great.
They forgot the driver.
🕹 Why Manual Matters
Look—I’ve driven in 19 countries. Every U.S. state. I’ve graduated from three professional driving courses. I’ve never been at fault in a crash. I worship driving. It’s chess to me, not checkers. And in that chess game, the clutch is the queen.
Lamborghini used to understand that.
Now they’re playing backgammon.
🚗 The WRX Revelation
Let me be clear: I’m not anti-speed. I’m anti-boredom.
And when I met the Subaru WRX STi, it was like the ghost of Ferruccio whispered through a turbocharger.
Affordable. Raw. Built by and for people who worship the drive.
It wasn’t a fallback—it was a resurrection.
Lamborghini builds supercars. Subaru builds experiences. And I’ll take a soulful drive through a rain-slicked hairpin in a WRX over 700 bored horses on cruise control any day.
🎯 Epilogue: I Own the Dream Now
I own the WRX now. Black 2011. Red accents. It’s got a personality like a jazz solo and the torque to back it up with thunder. I’m not chasing dreams anymore. I’m driving one.
The Countach is a poster.
The WRX is a poem.
It talks back when I talk to it.
And when I sleep, I still turn to look at it one more time through the window. Because if you don’t look back at your car after parking it?
You bought the wrong one.
“If everything seems under control, you’re not going fast enough.”
— Mario Andretti
Want to know the punchline?
I visited the Lamborghini factory once. Sat in an automatic Murciélago.
Felt the childhood dream swell—
—and then collapse.
That car didn’t miss the clutch.
It had forgotten what a clutch even was.
So no, Lamborghini. I will not be buying you when I win the lottery.
I’ll be out drifting in a car that gets it.
Fahrvergnügen lives.
It just has Japanese plates now.
📍Final Gear
Learn stick.
Redefine your relationship to motion.
Find your WRX—whatever it looks like.
And remember: the road isn’t just asphalt.
It’s a symphony.
Play it with your feet.
🛞 :drift^3