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Decades of pony car dominance (in the showroom, if not always at the track) have endowed the Ford Mustang with the type of confidence that renders garish demonstrations of machismo unnecessary. The 2010 Mustang is like the sedate old dude in the back of the bar who's kicked so much ass that he has nothing left to prove. It's so comfortable in its success that it feels no need for outlandish spoilers, pathologically oversensitive throttle calibrations, or faux carbon-fiber trim to call attention to itself. In fact, the muscular GT is so docile and easy to drive, you could use it to teach a teenager how to drive a stick.