Tyrannosaurus Lag

The 80s.

Downsized cars, downsized fuel consumption, downsized ego of automotive pride.

It all seemed quite devastating back then. It was the age of condemned power. There was no political correctness then, they didn't say: 'You are saving the whales if you buy this eco-car'. It was written all over the wall quite manly: 'Look, pal. You can't really buy a fast car anyomre, can you? So, why don't you buy this really cheap car for good and save your money for beer?'

The problem was that at the very moment the customer bought his car and his beer, sat down to the couch, turned on the TV, it was all... well... high-class motorsport to watch.

There was the golden age of Formula 1 when never before heard powered low-flying fighter planes were conquering the tracks, only to have circles driven around them by AWD Group B heavy-armoured warriors on gravel.

There was no talk about displacement, fuel consumption or greeniness.

It was all turbo.

The tyrannous turbo.

You see, today it seems turbo is something eco to break down CO2 emissions with smaller engines, keeping the power the previous generation used to have, also to compensate for the more and more massive cars' weight.

Also, now they say it's the sake for torque. So, when you start your car, there is no or very little lag due to the very small turbo. It's all great, it's fine, it's elegant, and you get the whistle.

But it wasn't anything like that at all.

The rule said, the bigger the better.

So you had to give it everything you got so as to get the 7th heaven in return. You had to push it as hard as you could to conquer over the turbo lag and then the turbo first just said "You, talkin' to me?" and when you reached the metal it simply unleashed the fury.

Screaming, howling engine in its terror being ripped apart by the vicious cannibal. Warp speed morphed into bent vanishing point. Reaching the over the top, LSDd black box in your brain. It was all about begging for even more, MORE, and M-O-R-E.

No driver from the 80s could forget the turbos. shaking knees, as the tiny soapbox with its four-banger revved up dauntingly. They were a carefully selected fleet of kinds among all cars available at the time.

The extremes where the same car would be mum's shopping mobile service and within another variety it was  the terror on four wheels on the fury road.

The turbo is just back again, wainting to be rediscovered as it was designed to be, waiting for its first prey.

Who will be the first obedient servant the reinstate the original tyrant?