“Sleeper” is one of those terms so overused it’s almost lost it’s impact. Used to be, if you saw the most basic model of a car, like a Chevrolet Biscayne, straight up slap around everybody who dared try while wearing steel wheels, caps up front and looked and sounded nothing like a ten-second brawler that might have slipped out of the back of a certain shop in the Northeast, you witnessed a sleeper. Now, it’s a badge of honor that goes the full opposite of what having a sleeper was supposed to be about: hiding in plain sight. You see this everywhere, especially on social media and YouTube: “TOTAL SLEEPER!! BEWARE OF (car of the week)!!” That isn’t to kick down some of the builds that are out there, just that maybe it might be wiser to play the cards closer to the chest. Or maybe not let the average YouTuber in on what’s going on under the hood when they come up to you with camera in hand and dollar signs in their eyes.

The term I prefer is “sucker-maker”. Growing up, I was surrounded by people whose livelihood may or may not have rested on the ability to hide in plain sight and move out like a moonshiner that just got spotted by a revenuer. Lots of power, little fuss…noise wasn’t needed, callouts weren’t needed, shiny wheels weren’t needed. What was needed was torque by the truckful and the durability of a demolition-derby ringer. I love the sleeper concept. I love seeing a car that even my well-trained eye misjudges, and I get excited when it puts up a number that is well below what I had expected. Okay, what would a Ford Sierra estate (read: Merkur XR4Ti in station wagon form) really be good for…a high 15-second time if it’s turbocharged? What about an old Rover P4 that I’d need fifteen minutes of Wikipedia reading to know what it was even about? We’ve got plenty of recipes for a low-flying bomber for our traditional American tastes, but this is how the act of “walk softly and carry a big stick” works in Britain.