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The Pantera combined Italian style with American muscle
Any car that can drive its owner mad enough to shoot it has to have something going for it in my book, especially if its creator had to flee South America after being implicated in a plot to assassinate the Argentine president.
Do we want to spend our irrationally justified pounds on a vehicle whose genesis came from focus groups, compliance and emissions targets, or was fomented from simmering passion, danger and hubris? I’ll take the latter every day, and twice on a Man Maths Saturday.
So if, unlike me, you didn’t have the Pantera on your bedroom wall, a speedy explainer. Alejandro DeTomaso – racing driver, businessman and occasional coup plotter – settled in Italy after said political exile, made some sports cars (Vallelunga, Mangusta), bought the old Vignale factory, did a dodgy deal with Lee Iacocca at Ford and poached Gian Paolo Dallara from Lamborghini to design him a new chassis.
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And thus we have the ingredients for the Pantera: a steel monocoque chassis with double wishbones, coilovers and disc brakes at all four corners, front and rear anti-roll bars and rack and pinion steering. All with a Ford Cleveland 351 (5.7-litre) V8 mounted ahead of the rear axle. Tom Tjaarda at Ghia designed the quintessential 1970s supercar body, dramatic wedge-shaped lines and a stance that either terrified or hypnotised contemporary small children.
Sounds tasty, doesn’t it? All of the Italian chassis, design and handling pedigree but with a tried and tested lump of American iron that any ham-fisted back street mechanic could keep in tip-top condition.
The American V8 installation was controversial, but in the real world where your convoluted financial justifications have to at least have a chance of adding up, who wants a temperamental high-revving Modenese engine that goes out of tune, overheats or needs its points or tappets diddling by a wizened (and expensive) Italian craftsman every 15 minutes?
Ghia badge was also a familiar sight on Fords of the period
And speaking of Man Maths, this is where the Pantera really earns its keep. Compared to other Italian exotica of the period, it’s an absolute bargain. A peachy 1970s Lamborghini Countach LP400 is getting on for a million quid these days. A ratty 5000S might be half a million. A really nice Ferrari Berlinetta Boxer a quarter of a mil. Halve that number again, and you’re getting a concours-grade Pantera, while reasonable runners trade privately for £70-90k.
And at that kind of price level, it’s a piece of supercar exotica you can actually use – and that adds a whole new column to the MM spreadsheet. When you divide the cost of the preposterous vehicle by the number of times it actually leaves the garage, you can justify all sorts of expense.
Like the £15k it’ll cost you to tune the Cleveland from the stock 330bhp to an earth-shaking 500bhp, creating not just a Countach QV slayer but a Diablo and Murcielago worrier too, especially with a volume of torque that’s best measured on the Richter scale.
Tempted? How about this minter that failed to sell at Iconic’s recent auction? There’s a deal to be done on that buy it now price, for sure. Arguably that’s not the right example to throw rods, pistons and Edelbrock heads at – perhaps persuade Jack (Number 27) to part with his for rather less.
Either way, it’ll be a hell of a story to tell to your grandkids. Just as long as you have a refined taste for that inevitable jeopardy, and a loaded Colt 45 in your toolkit.
Images courtesy Iconic Auctioneers
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