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For a brief—and I do mean brief—period of time in the early part of this decade, this scribe worked at a Jaguar dealership as a parts guy. Most of my time was spent learning the million and one ways that an X-type could fall apart. Engines seized, interiors collapsed, transmissions exploded, and driveshafts—oh, the countless, countless driveshafts—ate their U-joints so regularly that you could set your watch by them. At a time when Jaguar reliability was finally approaching respectable, the all-wheel-drive X-type was the lone, laughable holdout. It was obnoxiously underbuilt, remarkably overpriced, and about as charming as a hernia.

The X-type was Coventry’s business-case company saver, an entry-level sports sedan for the wooden-drawing-room set. It was built on the bones of Jaguar parent Ford’s Mondeo/Contour, and it was intended to resurrect Coventry’s financial fortunes, providing the dignified marque with a way to snag young, affluent buyers. What the bean counters neglected to consider, however, was that young, affluent buyers are not lobotomy patients. A tarted-up economy sedan sold at luxury-car prices is still just a tarted-up economy sedan, especially if it tries to self-immolate every time you turn the key.

There was also an impossibly unpopular wagon version. The dealer that I worked for had one that sat on the lot for—I am not making this up—two years.

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