Hello, my name is Jack and I’m an Alfaholic.

It’s a functioning Alfa Romeo addiction, unlike many Alfisti who find themselves hoarding these cars like some middle-aged men hoard the Star Wars figures of their youth. Some days my addiction has me content with normal cars, though more nights than most it has me laying awake on Alfa Romeo forums looking for a 4-wheeled money pit, chasing the masochistic joy of a broken car pissing oil in the garage. Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating, though most would still think I’ve taken leave of my senses, yet all the headaches I’m told, and know, I’d face would be worth it for a driving experience delivered by one of Torino’s little beauties.

Mid-rally, 50km’s south of Wangaratta, VIC

I had my first taste of Alfa’s at 18, co-driving a 1969 1600 Berlina Super TI in the Targa High Country rally, bounding around the roads beneath Mount Bulla deep in the Australian alps for a couple thousand kilometres. A baptism of fire that you’d think would have scared me straight and left me running for the hills searching of the nearest bulletproof Toyota, but I was young, dumb and hooked. What’s changed.

When one is struck down with the most common addictions we face, friends would look to help, but my friends are enablers; akin to holding an AA meeting in a Dan Murphy’s.

A good mate, even more severely bitten by the bug, had acquired one too many Alfa’s for available parking spaces and decided to part with his 1979 Alfa Romeo Alfasud Sprint Veloce 1.5, throwing me the keys for a couple weeks, giving me simple instructions: blow the cobwebs out, empty the fuel tank and sell it for me.

I don’t need telling twice.

This was in mid-2024, nearly a year ago, and this raucous, ramshackle little coupe is still living rent free in my head. It was the first time I’ve lived with an Alfa for more than that weeks-long rally, let alone one as characterful, and it was certainly a memorable experience.

It’s worth setting the stage of what the Alfasud is, as this model seems to have fallen through the cracks in Alfa’s history whilst it’s brothers, the GTV’s and 105’s, are lauded by collectors.

The Alfasud was Alfa Romeo’s front wheel drive four-door family car for the 70’s, with production running until 1989 with the Alfasud slowly morphing away from its pedestrian birth into a two-door hot hatchback. The 4-door models were replaced by the Alfa Romeo 33 in 1983, leaving the Alfasud moniker to be used on the sportier coupe body shapes. The top-of-the-tree Alfasud Sprint Veloce burst onto the scene in 1979, the 1.5 litre 4-cylinder boxer engine fitted with a pair of twin-choke Webber carburettors sending 94 horsepower to the front wheels.

The Alfasud was the last car made purely under Alfa Romeo before the Fiat buyout, so this marks the end of the line of the independently produced Alfa Romeo story. The reason the Alfasud fell through the cracks and became largely forgotten by collectors is their propensity to rust, even more than the Spider’s or GTV’s you’ll find in the garage of most Alfisti. They were built in the south where quality control, poor materials and salt air were plenty. Today, a well-preserved Alfasud Sprint Veloce is as rare as rocking horse droppings, and even passable-condition examples like this one before you are very, very rare cars.

This particular Sud had been under my mate’s custodianship for about two years, and it’s a real rat-bastard of a car. It’s a Sud, so a bit of cosmetic body rust is the rule not the exception, the seats are threadbare on the shoulders from years of throwing them forward to gain access to the back. The lambswool floor mats are like Swiss cheese, the dash is cracked, yet mechanically the car is absolutely rock solid, tip to tail. If anything, the cosmetic patina only adds to it’s charm as a drivers car and not a show queen, an old Alfa you can street park without thinking twice about another battle scar from the endless parade of touch-parking Ford Rangers.

I feared I was alone in my adoration of this characterful little runabout so the night after picking it up I took it on an evenings drive with a dozen other classic car owners to hear their thoughts. Upon arrival, a good mate eyeballed it parked up, not even running, immediately jumping in the raked drivers seat, arms outstretched and knees around the steering wheel assuming it’s strange driving experience, then started coming out in Italian conniptions, rowing from 1st gear to 5th and making “WAAAH! WAAAAAAAAAH!” throaty engine noises between every gear change, then bursting into cackles of joy followed by “I like this car way too much!”

Another poor bastard under the spell of Alfa Romeo’s.

For his own financial benefit I failed to mention I was about to bring the car to market, lest he rip his wallet out of his pocket before throwing it at me and refusing to get out of the drivers seat.

With a rear mounted gearbox for improved weight distribution and disc brakes all round, mounted inboard at the front for less unsprung weight, the Sud was clearly developed with performance in mind. Which explains why it was chosen as the donor car for the infamous Giocotollo Group B built in Australia in 1986. Even with a front wheel drive powertrain it’s a responsive, tactile drivers car with lots of feedback through unassisted steering. Whilst the engine is mounted in front of the front axel it’s low down to reduce weight transfer and body roll, so it compliments your driving and is easy to tame. The gearbox is exactly what you’d expect from a 70’s Alfa, long throws and short gearing to accelerate quickly. We’ll gloss over the worn synchro on 2nd gear, part and parcel for most Alfa’s from this period.

There’s modest power under your right foot but the old adage of “if you can’t drive fast with 90 horsepower, 900 horsepower won’t help you” rings true. It’s certainly enough to get yourself in trouble if you so desire.

The driving experience is entirely overwhelmed by the angry 4-cylinder boxer powerplant. A subdued rumble that builds quickly to a gloriously sharp, highly strung, brappy bark topping out at 7,000 RPM before lifting off, a fizzing sound filling the gap before changing up and that bark starts climbing all over again. Lifting off downhill produces some hilariously loud staccato pops and bangs as the carburettors drop unburnt fuel into the exhaust, the sound resembling the loud, hollow crack of bamboo thickets aggressively striking each other in a windy storm. It’s difficult to describe its unique sound, so just listen.

It’s an entirely antisocial driving experience to you and those around you, yet it’s one that makes people smile. On a cold-start the Sud requires a healthy stab of the throttle to get it to loudly turn over and on one start up a mother with her primary-school aged children were walking on the footpath near to the car. As it fired up the poor family all jumped out of their skins, I wound the windows down to apologise for the noise, ready to explain it’s an old car. Expecting a stern look and even sterner words it took me by surprise when the mother said “No don’t apologise, it sounds fantastic!”

Surprisingly, people responded very positively to the Sud, nothing but smiles and thumbs up, even as it screams down the road, popping and banging away. It seems that Sydneysider’s may be fed up with crackle-tuned Volkswagen Golf’s, but cruise around in a 70’s orange Alfa and everyone falls under it’s spell.

The Sud may be little more than a toy, albeit the most fun toy I’ve played with, but thankfully, before I could change my mind and keep it for myself, the Sprint Veloce found a buyer. Much more quickly than I’d expected. I would be lying if I didn’t say that handing the keys to the new owner wasn’t a painful moment, it had weighed on my mind to buy it for myself, made worse by the fact it was actually attainable.

Despite what sales listings of Alfa’s from this vintage will tell you, they aren’t all out of reach. This Sud sold for less than $10,000. That’s market rate, if you can find one that hasn’t rusted away, and whilst that’s still a very large sum of money, it’s a round of drinks in the world of classic Alfa prices. It’s attainability made passing on it all that more painful.

The question remains, has exposure therapy cured me of my Alfaholism? Well, the best part of a year after selling the Sud and I’m writing this article, the spine tingling sound of that Sud is still living rent free in my head, so you be the judge. Rest assured the continued late nights on CarSales will continue and it won’t be long until I’m whistling past the financial graveyard in an old Alfa, but I’ll have a smile on my face.

Well, you made it this far, so chances are you’ve got a thing for cars. Want to add one to the fleet, or maybe dip your toe in with your first classic?

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