I’ve noticed over time that there seems to be some confusion over what I mean when I say “Bat Country.”
I can tell you decidedly that it has nothing to do with Kansas, which has relatively few of the rodents.
No, duty in Bat Country was assigned to me by Dan Hull in Spring 2011. We talked about it several times. While I’d already read plenty of HST, I read again. Always instructive.
So, where is Bat Country? You might be there. You may have never been there.
Ever walked into a room and then wondered how the hell you got there, and why? You were there.
Ever been in a courtroom conducting cross-examination, and you found yourself wondering where to go, and you rocked back and forth, looking around, analyzing the pile of the carpet, wishing someone would get you drunk, or alternatively just kill you? You were there.
Ever find yourself in a spot (literally or figuratively) where you know that one move could mean the difference between amazing success and disastrous defeat? You’ve been there.
Some people hate it. Others love it. I’m one of the latter.
Nobody stays forever. Even the ones who love it crawl out occasionally for the purpose of redeveloping the desire to go back.
When you’re there, you always have a briefcase. What’s in it? Well, that’s nobody’s business but yours.
So, there you go. For those of you who want to stay, welcome. For those of you who don’t, best you just keep driving through, at the speed limit, and don’t stop.