“Manic”…there was never a more proper word for what a rally car driven in pure anger is. With revs high, the turbo spooled to the moon and the tires scratching in like a housecat the moment Dad lets one of his “nuclear blast” sneezes go, the tiny little power-sliding, nimble and radical little rally cars of both present and past put on a show. At the hands of a skilled driver, it’s the closest thing I believe you can get to a motorsports equivalent of a Cirque du Soleil show, more theatrics, gymnastics and acoustics than anything else remotely close to automotive competition. What’s your poison? A tricked-out Lada giving those with Commie Cars jokes something to think about for a moment? A classic Ford Escort hanging the tail as wide as possible while a Cosworth screams? The undeniable anger of a Group B legend as it spits flame out the pipe?

Rally is an all-inclusive show: the acceleration of a drag car, the showmanship of a drift show, enough tire-frying action to keep an Aussie engaged, off-road sections for those who prefer that kind of thing, and when somebody slips? Well, at least the demo-derby fans will have something to study. You have to love it…

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