I didn't want to review the "car" we had for Week 52.
I hate the all–consuming trend of S and CUVs. I think the vast majority of the people who buy those things have near zero use for any of the "Sport" and "Utility" of these Vehicles—if there's any to be found in those FF hatchbacks on stilts. I think most people buy these things just for show, and what car company is more showy than Lamborghini? When someone thought to put two and two together, the seemingly unlikely pairing of the words "Lamborghini" and "SUV" came together like air to a bird, the sea to a fish, and contempt to the contemptible, resulting in not the fastest running Lamborghini ever made, but the fastest selling one of the company's entire 60–year history. Yada yada, some context and history about Ferruccio Lamborghini never wanted to make sports cars, how the company made the "Rambo Lambo" LM002... Look, I get it. Doesn't make the Week 52 make any more sense or less of a poop stain to look at.
No, I'm not going to sully my fingers typing its name out. I do all my research on it in an incognito tab on another browser. I don't even feel this filthy browsing for porn. When I had to take a photo of the car to announce it at the start of Week 52, I didn't even shoot my own car. I don't want this brain rot and hollow showboating invading my life, my personal space, more than it already has. Seeing one in real life makes me sick. The only solace I can take in the Week 52 being added into Gran Turismo 7 is that I can adamantly refuse to own one, not even for a fleeting moment to fill my otherwise complete CarDex. In fact, that one omission in the 497–strong list as of Version 1.45 is something I take pride in. Yeah, it might seem trivial to be so worked up about not owning an inconsequential car in a video game, but I take the same pride in not owning a Week 52 as I do not relapsing into old habits or being rude to a retail worker. Sometimes not doing something is in itself, every bit an achievement as actually doing something. Not owning a Week 52, especially when I had everything else, was an achievement to me.
Was.
Vic then comes along and chose the Week 52 for Week 52 of Car of the Week. He held my family at gunpoint, my balls in a vice, and threatened to LS— no, EV swap an RX-7 before my taped open eyes if I didn't honour his "request". And so, the folks at Lamborghini became 300,000 Credits richer as their hired guns shook down a fallen and tearful pretend reviewer. They stripped me of all my clothes and took away all my means of payment and transport, and as a final "F–you", the only way could make it back home in the sweltering, inhumane heat was a Week 52 with my name, ID number, and blood type printed into its upholstery... in my own blood.
A more able man might have tried to make Bloody Marys with spilled blood in my situation by reviewing the Week 52, but willing myself into a Week 52 felt like dipping my soul into a pool of radioactive acid. All I can tell you is that first and second are uselessly short—2nd gear tops out at exactly 100km/h, which should be all I need to mention to illustrate the one purpose they're there to fulfil. The thing wants to be short shifted at about 6,2, and is completely soulless both to drive and to listen to. It stops really well for something that weighs the collective guilt of mankind's worst tendencies*. Drag completely nukes this thing past 230km/h (143mph). The front heaviness of this thing is somewhat mitigated by what feels like brake vectoring on corner entry, which means to say that it pushes harder than delivering mother cattle after the initial turn–in. Vic opines it's faster through a corner sideways than straight. Ask him for the details. I'm just a broken shell of a man stripped of all dignity, purpose, happiness, and hope in life.
*The Week 52 weighs 2,197kg (4,844lbs) according to the game. Those figures could be dry humour, as is the case with most Italian performance cars in this game. I'm not going to sully my search history with trying to dig up its kerb mass.
In terms of raw pace, it'd struggle immensely just to keep up with a first gen Audi R8 V8. Can you imagine actually paying 911 GT3 money to get spanked by a Cayman GT4? I'd say I couldn't if I hadn't been forced into actually experiencing it. I SUPPOSE it's the third fastest four seater in this game behind the Porsche Taycan and Charger Hellcat, and it would outlast the EV Taycan and be much easier to drive than a Hellcat. To drive, though? There's nothing exciting or even remotely pleasant about the driving experience. It's completely devoid of any sense of occasion, quirk, or personality. And that just doesn't scream "Lamborghini" to me.
Not like the 2000 Diablo GT.
#2000 #jgtc #gt500
From the moment I had to launch it from a standing start, this thing BELLOWED out character, and I'm not just talking about the sound of the showpiece 6L V12 slung aft the cockpit, either. As one might expect from a naturally aspirated unit that's capable of revving to a dizzying 8,000rpm, the NA V12 engine of the Diablo is completely lifeless below 3k rpm, waking up in a dazed stupor only past that. The complete lack of life in those low revs, along with its very tall gear ratios, mean that it's much more advantageous to turn off the makeshift launch control that is TCS and just modulate the wheelspin off a standing start—not to mention much more fun and engaging. Push it past 6,000rpm though, and this thing instantly snaps from "mildly grumpy to be up early on a Saturday morning" to "fissed the puck off just because it can", almost as though an invisible turbo passed laughing gas into the engine's cylinders and the driver's lungs, and it's a violent transition in first and second gear. In the 5 or so seconds it takes the Diablo to get from 0–100km/h, it's already shown more character than the Week 52 could ever scrape together in its lifetime. Right from the moment the lights go out, the Diablo has already established its personality and preferences in a way that almost looks as if written by a manga artist trying to introduce and establish a new character: Make a strong, cinematic impression, convey the character's intention, establish the character's absurd power level in the dynamic, maybe pepper in hints of its quirks for flavour, and then slowly hint at its weaknesses in a pace the audience can digest while keeping their interest.
As previously mentioned, the gear ratios of the Diablo are not just tall, but also wide apart—a necessity when trying to reach 200mph with just five forward gears. This, combined with its peaky engine, means that every gear has to be wrung for every last rev it can muster before upshifting, lest the upshift drops the L532 engine below its awakening point of 6,000rpm. Wring each cog for all it's worth, and the Diablo will just barely stay above said 6k threshold with each upshift. In other words, bringing each gear to its symphonic limit is not just its own reward, it's also to avoid painful punishment, and it lights up my stupid lizard brain on both motivational ends like a Christmas tree set on fire. Despite not having a stick shifter for my T300RS and thus only shifting with the paddles, there's a nigh indescribable quality to the Diablo's shifts that just make them so stupidly satisfying to grab. They just feel smoother and a little quicker than most stick shifts in the game. I wonder if the dog–leg pattern of the gated shifter has anything to do with it?
Continuing where the 25th Anniversary Countach left off, the Diablo GT comically staggers its tyres front to rear as though a Top Fuel Dragster to keep itself stable: 245–335 in this case. Of course, front tyres so skinny would have better luck stopping Y2K than it would a 1,490kg (3,285lbs), 200mph–capable cruise missile, to say nothing of trying to stop and steer a rampaging Diablo at the same time. Braking isn't the Diablo's strong suit, and ironically for a rear mid engine car, braking and turning has to be largely separate affairs, all in spite of the fact that late model Diablos like the one we have coming with ABS. And if you thought trail braking it was bad, wait till you need to adjust the Diablo's turning radius deep into a corner: the differential is so tight that it's damn near impossible to get the front end to turn when not hard on the brakes deep into a corner!
"So, what's the difference between the Week 52 and the Diablo, if both Lamborghinis push with understeer heavily?", you might be asking at this point. The difference, dear astute, sexy reader, is that, in addition to its spine–chilling, bum–burning soundtrack, the rear mid engined Diablo has a playful side to it unlike the Week 52, and the magical part about having that playful split personality is that sometimes, that playful side wins. The problem with using a tight differential in generating understeer is that the more understeer you try to dial into it, the harder and faster the car goes sideways once the rear tyres lose grip for any reason—a situation not unfamiliar to drivers of the Diablo owing to its racecar emulating rear suspension setup making tar mountains out of molehills. Beware of cutting corners too much as well, because the Diablo's preferred portal to the underworld lies just beyond paved asphalt, and once there's a grip difference between the two rear tyres, all hell breaks loose. And, as stupid a notion as it is to powerslide and drift around a 1 in 83 classic supercar, the Diablo GT is... really controllable in a slide. Don't get me wrong: you still have to catch it the nanosecond it goes, but if you're prepared for it and are quick enough, and if the NA V12 is awake and angry enough to give you the torque, the Diablo GT is a shockingly predictable and controllable lunk to slide around. In other words, the Diablo has so much character that it feels like two personalities constantly fighting each other, whereas the Week 52 can't find a shred of emotion in it, even if it were piloted by asylum inmates.
After having experienced the Diablo and running its similarly brilliant Murciélago against it, I just can't fathom how anyone could accept the Week 52 wearing a Lamborghini badge, let alone want it. It's a licence to print money for VAG, not a car meant to be driven by drivers. And sadly, it's not a trend that started with the Week 52; rather, the Week 52 seems to be the culmination of a long lasting syndrome.
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