We weren't late too often, though, since the sensational 276-hp, 3.2-liter flat six housed in the Porsche's midsection encouraged early arrivals. With only 22 more hp than the outgoing model, our Boxster S wasn't strikingly fast--it sprinted to 60 mph in 5.4 seconds in our tests--but the engine's smoothness, wide powerband, and beautiful exhaust note invited enthusiastic driving at any and every opportunity. The six's sweet sounds, which nearly sent the Porschephiles on staff into convulsions of joy, triggered more logbook commentary than anything else.
Sweet also described the Boxster's brakes. "As good as the engine is," wrote Lerner, "the brakes may be even better. No doubt the Boxster's weight--or lack thereof--has something to do with it. When you get down to serious threshold braking, the pedal gets very hard, like a racing car's. Advantage: Porsche!" He also echoed the across-the-board affection for the Boxster's steering: "It's precise, direct, and magically responsive to inputs."
But the Boxster wasn't perfect. Or, rather, it wasn't perfect enough. The ink-stained noodleheads here at 120 E. Liberty generally aren't happy unless we've got something to grouse about, and so we groused. Many complaints were centered around the Boxster S's six-speed manual transmission. "Too vague for a clean, quick 2-3 upshift," snarled technical editor Don Sherman. "The throw from fourth to fifth is a bit long and a bit rubbery," chimed in senior editor Joe DeMatio. Even copy editor Rusty Blackwell, who suffered from a stalkerish obsession with the Porsche, observed that "the shift action could be a bit more crisp."
The Boxster's interior was also derided for being too plasticky, and nearly everyone complained that the center console had too many tiny, fiddly controls. L.A. bureau chief Michael Jordan summed it up: "If you were going to accessorize this car, you'd start with the dark, plain interior. It's much improved over the first-generation car, but there are still too many fussy details, like the radio and climate controls. It stems from the German way of operating, which requires a control switch for every little thing." There were few grumblings about fit and finish, however, and the cabin showed little wear after twelve months of hard use. The only quality issues we encountered during our test were a rattling wind blocker (which would have been fixed under warranty had we simply bothered to mention it to the dealer) and an exterior side vent that wriggled itself partially free every couple of weeks or so.
Those minor issues aside, the Porsche seduced Automobile Magazine staffers left and right, and it proved just as popular with our friends--we felt like mechanical bull operators with all the rides we doled out. "I took a bunch of relatives out for some hard miles in the Boxster, and they loved every second of it," wrote one editor after rocketing across Ohio and West Virginia to a family reunion. When DeMatio took the roadster to a barbecue, "there was much giggling and squealing about the 'cool car' from the preteens in attendance. Naturally, I had to take them all out for a spin; one kid looked at me and said, 'You must be rich!' One should never underestimate the power of a Porsche on the proletariat."
But some schlubs remained unconvinced. "Something's missing," wrote assistant editor Sam Smith. "To my goofball judgment, the damn thing's technically near faultless, but I don't drool. I don't sit up nights wondering how many banks I'll have to rob to put a Boxster in my garage." And DeMatio, who praised the car's dynamics, confessed that "something about the Boxster bores me."
As for the rest of us? Consider us the proletariat. We want this Boxster back, too.