The story of Plymouth is one of those Shakespearean tragedies of which the history of motoring has just too many. It's a tale of romantic woe, at the end of which both lovers end up dead, for all the wrong reasons, and with neither of them ever properly finding out how the other one felt, before it was too late.

In this case, Plymouth is Juliette; specifically, Plymouth is the '70 Sport Fury GT, and Romeo is us, as in the classy muscle car aficionados of the world. I mean OK, it could be the other way round. You can be Juliette if you want. This analogy is weird enough as it is without adding political correctness to the mix, but that's the way the world works nowadays.

The point is that Plymouthgot taken away from us too soon, too young, and for reasons no-one explained properly at the time....and we died of a broken heart as a result. Well OK, we didn't, because we found alternative affection (God we're a shallow fickle bunch), but you get my point.

Related:The Real Story Of The Iconic 1970 Plymouth Superbird

The Fury goes back to 1955, the scion of the Belvedere of Christine fame, that terrified a generation of teenaged movie-goers. Sport Fury came along in 1959, following a brief to create a two-door, hard or soft top optioned, V8 cruiser to fill the niche left by the discontinuation of the parent model, and its replacement regular Fury, sedan and wagon versions.

By the end of the 1960s, the Fury range was into it's fifth iteration; square had become angular, and despite rocketship fins being a thing of the past, the space age continued in the form of headlights that went away, and came back again, at the touch of a switch. Cool had a whole new definition.

This most handsome of Sport Fury designs wasn't the last, but it was by far and away the most memorable. Subsequent models just simply went off the boil in terms of looks, but the '69-'73 conjured the impression of an aircraft carrier wearing cowboy boots. Of those years, the GT option only ever rolled off the production line in 1970 and '71.

It had brawn aplenty to match its sleek-yet-rugged composure; the smallest donk on offer was a 3.7-liter slant six, and although the standard was the 5.2-litre (318 cubic inch) 360-horse V8, the menu ran all the way to a drool-provoking 7.2 litre big block V8, that held the whip over 425 rambunctious horses, and could catapult the nearly-two-ton brute from 0-60 in less than seven seconds. If that sounds impressive, and it does, it's the same donk that carried Jake and Elwood's original Dodge Bluesmobile to victory over the Illinois Nazi Party (and numerous enforcers of the law).

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Nineteen-seventy's Sport Fury GT recalls a genuinely magnificent, and tragically long-gone, age of men and machines. Gasoline was cheaper than water, steel was plentiful, and lines and panels alike were generous, the lid of the trunk alone looked like it could accommodate a full-sized tennis court, and the engines were hewn from volcanic rock and pig iron, by mountain men wielding Thor's hammer.

This, Ladies and Gentlemen, was the epitome of the muscle car; massively big, awesomely stylish, stupidly fast, insanely thirsty, and with that deep rumbling thunder that was so low and throaty that it was more felt than heard, and only dogs could audibly detect the growl of the bottom notes. Actually make that wolves. Big, ferocious wolves, alone, noble, and aloof, running wild across vast empty wildernesses. Oh yes, it was a special car.

The 1970 was the last of the Sport Fury GTs to be offered in two-door only. 1971 saw a four-door sedan and a coupe joining the lineup, though the 4-door was only available with a steel roof. A few regular Furys saw service with several State and City Police departments, but the two-door Sport was the sole preserve of those they might be chasing, although it's probably fair to say they wouldn't have been doing much in the way of catching.

From then until its final demise, Plymouth's cars became more and more badge-engineered versions of other Chrysler brand models.

Related:The 10 Best Cars Plymouth Ever Made, Ranked

Ultimately, however, the Sport Fury GT was feted to the same doom as Plymouth itself; filicide by Corporate Politics. Plymouth was to Chrysler what Pontiac became to General Motors; a sacrifice to the Gods of Accounting and personal preference at Board of Directors level. Both were in-betweener marques that were pressed into service to rescue their respective parent companies during lean economic times, offering more power and refinement than their baseline stablemates, but at a lower price point than the more recognized luxury brands above them in the food chain. Both outperformed the aforementioned 'superior' badges in the sales stakes, and both subsequently copped the dagger when further downsizing was required. In Plymouth's case it was Chrysler and Dodge that escaped the stiletto of discontinuation in 2001, and Plymouth that ended up bleeding out on the floor of Chrysler's version of the Capulet family crypt.

This clearly angered the Gods of Motoring (who outrank the Accounting Gods in the Pantheon of All Things Right And Fair), and in 2009 Chrysler, which three years prior to the knifing of Plymouth had merged with Daimler, had to be bailed out, first by the US taxpayer, and then by Fiat. Five years after that, in 2014, the Italian giant swallowed what remained, in its entirety.

The 1970 Sport Fury GT was a flash in the pan as a Plymouth, as a muscle car, as a design that represented the conquering of a mighty peak but was never attempted again. It was elegant, powerful, and it oozed machismo; simply too good for this world, perhaps, and maybe that's why it died young. If only it had been as special to the bean-counters of Chrysler as it was to its legion of fans, the love story might have had a happier ending.

Next:Fiat Chrysler And Peugeot Agree To $50 Billion Merger Deal

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https://www.richardprosserwriter.com/.Richard Prosser is a former two-term (six year) New Zealand Member of Parliament, and magazine columnist.He is a winemaker and viticulturist by trade, and has lengthy experience in a wide range of industries and occupations, in New Zealand and abroad; everything from processing film to building anti-tank missiles to running London pubs, from driving trucks to selling tractors to designing farm irrigation systems, from labouring on building sites to installing vineyards to manufacturing fruit schnapps.Richard is an initiated Reiki Master Teacher, as well as being a self-confessed hunting-shooting-fishing petrolhead redneck, and has had a long association with natural health and complementary therapies.Richards unique perspective and insight stems from experience within both private sector business, and central Government, as well as from having a slightly odd sense of humour.Richard lives in Northamptonshire in England, with his wife Elaine, and their very expensive globetrotting cat, Juliette.

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Here's What Makes The 1970 Plymouth Sport Fury GT So Special - HotCars