I’ve always been a big guy. Back in the day, I was built more like a linebacker. These days? More like an offensive lineman who from birth has been in the automotive scene. Not sloppy big – just broad, heavy, and built in a way that makes small sports cars look mildly concerned when I walk toward them.

Which makes my obsession with tiny driver-focused sports cars even funnier…

Because logically, I should probably love giant luxury barges and lifted trucks exclusively. And don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love my trucks, SUVs, and muscle cars. I love the presence of them. The comfort… and the power. I love the ‘capable’ feeling that you could tow a subdivision into existence if necessary.

But the cars that really shaped me? They were tiny…

The real origin of this obsession started when I was a kid. The first time I sat inside an air-cooled Porsche 911, something fused in my brain permanently. Then there was my uncle’s Nissan 300ZX… then a Datsun 240Z. And more importantly… I got rides in these cars. Spirited, exuberant rides. The kind of “don’t tell mom” rides you get from uncles. That’s probably what ruined me.

When you’re a kid, sports cars are larger than life… 

And they feel alive in a way normal cars don’t. You sit low, you feel everything, and you hear every mechanical sound. The cabins wrap around you. Everything feels purposeful. Even before I understood horsepower numbers, suspension geometry, or weight transfer… I just understood instinctually that sports cars felt special. They felt connected. And from that point forward, I was hooked on little sports cars. Which eventually led me to… 

One of the funniest vehicles I’ve ever owned: A 1994 Mazda Miata.

Now – this Miata (at one point) belonged to one of my best friends – Jeepin Bubba himself. AKA – Mr. Black Bear Off-Road. Which already sounds ridiculous, because Bubba isn’t exactly built like a jockey either.

At one point, both Bubba and I were in the Miata together…

If you’ve never witnessed two grown lumberjacks inside a first-generation Miata, just picture two pit bulls trying to share a dog house during a thunderstorm. Elbows were rubbing. The poor car looked stressed. But man… that little thing was incredible. The handling was what sold me. It felt so light on its feet. Playful, and immediate. You could drop the top and instantly turn an ordinary drive into an event. It was easy to work on, and easy to modify. The kind of car where you actually wanted to wrench on it, just for the fun of it.

Simplicity is something we’re losing. Modern cars are so grossly overcomplicated now, that replacing a battery sometimes requires a software degree and emotional support. Meanwhile – the Miata sits there saying: “You got sockets and bad ideas? Perfect let’s party!” 

Then came the Scion FR-S…

And somehow, for me anyway, it improved on everything I loved about the Miata. When I got the FR-S back in 2016, it was  already wearing a Rocket Bunny Version 1 widebody kit. The car was originally heavily modified by one of my best friends – Charles aka Tatertot – before it eventually landed in my hands. Naturally, I continued the tradition of financially irresponsible enthusiast behavior, and modified it even further.

I absolutely adore the FR-S…

Objectively speaking, it’s not fast by modern standards. Not at all. In fact, factory numbers were around 200 horsepower at the crank, and closer to around 160 horsepower to the wheels. Which makes it the slowest car I own. My lifted F-150 would gap it while hauling camping gear. The GL63 AMG would annihilate it without even noticing. And the Durango R/T? Same story.

But none of those vehicles feel like the FR-S… 

The FR-S is not a fast car, it’s a sports car. A driver’s car. Six-speed manual. Rear-wheel drive. Lightweight chassis. Low center of gravity. And handling sharp enough to make you question your own confidence. This thing sticks to corners like a cat on carpet. Yet if you want the rear end to kick out? It’ll happily oblige. That’s what makes the 86 chassis so special. The car listens to you. Throw it aggressively into a corner, and it responds instantly & eagerly. Want precision? It gives you precision. Want to act like a complete hooligan leaving a gas station at midnight because your brain still occasionally thinks you’re 16? It’ll do that too.

The FR-S / BRZ / 86 feels mechanical in all the right ways…

You actually feel the road in the steering wheel. You can feel the tires loading up in corners. Every shift is a connection point to the car & the drivetrain. Nothing with the FR-S/BRZ/86 is isolated, artificial, or simulated. Modern performance cars are so filtered now. So computer-managed. And so obsessed with making everyone feel like a professional driver.

The FR-S doesn’t flatter you, it involves you…

And honestly, the imperfections make it better. It feels honest, and real. The one you want to take on that night run to the grocery store or Walmart. And the one that just puts you in a good mood on a solo drive. And that’s why I’ll probably always love little driver focused cars. Not because they’re the fastest things on the road. Usually they aren’t. But because they make you feel something… feel everything. You don’t need 700 horsepower to have fun. In fact, most of the time (spoiler alert), 700hp cars aren’t that fun. They’re just good for short bursts of fun… before you have to put the leash back on. Sometimes freedom is found in a lightweight car, a six-speed manual, a good back road, and a clear night. 

Article by David Saddlebrook Windsor