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An expression redolent of the good old days of the Wild West where life was a frontier, men were real men and lampposts were nervous etc.

These days your ring of wagons will twist back on themselves in some kind of pan-dimensional Mobius loop comprising the ring of escalatees to which you will reach around to diffuse responsibility for a hard or confusing decision, responsibility for which will quickly resolve back to you courtesy of the equal and opposite centripetal force of delegation.

It is so dispiriting that you will eventually find yourself around a camp-fire singing the middle management blues.

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