We broke the rules and let an aspiring Olympian drive a Lamborghini
Canada best amateur boxer gets behind the wheel of the first Lamborghini Aventador SVJ in the world
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I’m sorry, Mr. Lamborghini, I broke one of your rules. A big one. Cardinal, even.
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I let someone under 25 years of age drive one of your magnificently overpowered, outrageously overpriced supercars. Your top-of-the-line Aventador SVJ Roadster, no less. You know, the one with the sticker tag that says $791,578. That looks like a neon blue F16 that suddenly sprouted gargantuan Pirelli PZeros and a steering wheel. With 759 fire-breathing horsepower that can — allegedly, officer! — hit 350 km/h. Yeah, that one.
I get that it’s a big faux pas, the whole irresponsibility/inexperience of youth combined with the big V12’s ability to alter the space time continuum not always an ideal mating. Hell, the only car he’s ever driven, a 2014 Honda Civic, would not, in the immortal words of the late, great Barry Sheene — who was lamenting the lack of power of his then woefully uncompetitive Suzuki RG500 — “pull a boy scout off your grandmother.” Like I said, I get your trepidation.
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But 22-year-old Jaquan Carty is not you typical Gen Zer. For one thing, he is utterly responsible and respectful. He’s also sensible to the point of being boring, so reliable he could change his name to Camry and Toyota wouldn’t complain, and so oppressively polite he could actually be a boy scout. He goes to church most Sundays, is studying to be a nurse, and he even respects his parents. Hell, every time he has a beer — which is about once every full moon — he asks his mother’s permission. I kid you not.
But he’s no mama’s boy. Unless, of course, your definition of a mama’s boy includes being a national boxing champion , Canada’s presumptive representative in the 75 kilogram weight class at the upcoming Olympics, and in the words of the late Adrian Teodorescu — Lennox Lewis’ coach in Seoul in 1988 — Canada’s best hope for boxing gold in Tokyo next year.
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Right now, though, he’s just a kid down in the dumps. Seriously depressed, even. Like so many prospective Olympians, he’s having what the Brits call “a bit of bother.” Sparring is forbidden — maintaining a safe social distance while boxing is difficult unless you have a six-foot “reach” — and Ontario gyms are closed. Worse yet — and isn’t this a frustratingly familiar story in Canadian amateur sports — he’s got to manage all these roadblocks while scrounging for money.
It seems that, while we do have a national support program for athletes, there are loopholes large enough to drive, well, a large, bright Blu Nethuns supercar through. Just being Canada’s choice is not enough to get to Tokyo; you need to prove yourself in international competition, and if you are new to a national team but still need to qualify in outside-of-Canada tournaments, you’re paying your own freight. In other words, even though he’s Canada’s presumptive representative at 75 kilos, Jaquan needs to fund his own travel to foreign tournaments if he wants to represent us in Tokyo. Throw in the coronavirus-inspired reduction of his hours at Yorkdale’s Cheesecake Factory and the $10,000 or so he needs for training and travel expenses seems as insurmountable a task as the twice-a-days I put him through every Tuesday and Friday.
That’s all by way of saying that he needed some serious cheering up. Something exhilarating. Uplifting. Joyous. A life-affirming even. And what in the world could possibly put a bigger smile on a young man’s face than to blag a ride in 759-horsepower Lamborghini?
Actually, how about we go one better and make it a short toot behind the wheel of said screaming road rocket? Hence, Mr. Lamborghini, my need to apologize for breaking our tacit agreement. Even if my transgression is not to be forgiven, I hope you’ll agree it was for a worthwhile cause. Truth be told, even if you decide to never lend me another car, I’d do it all over again.
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And I’ll tell you, it took some coaxing. For someone normally so composed he actually naps before big fights, he was quite the Nervous little Nellie, especially when I told him that this particular Aventador was the first of its kind in the world. Not in Canada, but numero uno out of only 800 SVJ Roadsters Sant’Agata will produce for the entire planet before shutting down production.
So rest assured that, despite our flouting of official fiat, your Aventador’s precious 6.5-litre V12 never got much past a burble, an Impala could have generated as many cornering Gs without any squealing of tire and the SVJ’s carbon ceramic brakes could have been a Model T’s drums for all Jaquan cared. Never, in the history of Lamborghini has one of your supercars been driven with such a lack of vigour.
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But just starting the beast was a thrill, the Aventador’s pretence to a fighter jet-like cockpit — the bright red, flip-up cover ‘protecting’ the start button, for instance — not lost on our aspiring Olympian. Then there was that glorious, frenetic cacophony of internal combustion, the sound of those humungous 95-millimetre pistons waking up as fevered as the first few chords of Jimi Hendrix’s Star Spangled Banner . If you weren’t fully awake before that big V12 lights up, you certainly are afterwards.
And Lord, has anyone ever gotten so much joy out of paddle-shifters. “Seven speeds? My Civic only has five!” Jaquan says. Just getting in and out of the Lambo’s trademark scissor doors was an event — “where are the door handles?” — and of course, when we finally got to the Kombat Arts Training Academy, we had to park “right in front, please” just in case, you know, anyone might be watching. In other words, though jaded journalists and spoiled owners alike may occasionally forget what an occasion — nay, a privilege — it is to drive a $791,578 supercar, to most people, a Lamborghini was, is, and always will be an event to feted, celebrated and treasured forever.
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You know, sort of like winning an Olympic gold medal would be for the rest of us.
Author’s note: Young Jaquan, as I mentioned, is having a hard time financing his Olympic dreams, nevermind having to serve up tempting confectionaries while starving himself to make weight. We’ve started a GoFundMe page to help him get to his qualifying competitions. I’ll match the first $1,000 donated. Those of you who might benefit from a charitable tax donation can make out a check to Boxing Canada in support of Jaquan Carty. There’s a Donation Program on their website, but if you’d like some help navigating the submenus, contact me at david@davebooth.ca . And, if the possibility of Olympic gold isn’t motivation enough, consider this: Jaquan was the last person to beat me up before I hung up my gloves for the last time. Surely that’s worth a few bucks! [I’d pay anything to punch Booth at any given moment. — Ed.]