Do me the favor of imagining the following scenario:

You have kids. One of your kids has chosen to follow in your footsteps as a professional buffet critic. You're actually a retired seafood buffet critic, but your kid went their own way, instead choosing to make pizza their area of expertise.

Now imagine, for some strange reason, that society placed a comically, overwhemlingly disproportionate value on the art of criticizing buffets. As far as seafood buffet critics go, you're considered one of the all-time best. You're even paid to give commentary on the Buffet Critic Network.

Your kid has shown some promise as a pizza buffet critic, and because you have all the free time that comes along with being a retired seafood buffet critic, you have the luxury of being present when your kid is working to hone their skills. It made serious headlines when you volunteered at your son's high school to be the Buffet Critic Club's plate coordinator. The simple thought of someone of your caliber making their bread and butter reminding kids where to place their bread and butter has become the topic of widespread media attention.

You hear about a buffet-style Little Caesar's that's having a grand opening a couple miles south of where you live, so you and your kid head down and pay the fee to partake in the food at the event. There's going to be other pizza buffet critics there, as well as different types of pizza your kid hasn't tried yet. You figure it'll be a good opportunity fro your kid to practice their craft and see how they stack up against the competition.

When you arrive, your kid is seated at a table. There are dozens of young, aspiring pizza buffet critics in the dining area. You don't want to interfere, so you observe the process from the restaurant's lobby. You notice that only one pizza at a time is being placed on the buffet, and everyone is made to fight over each slice. Meanwhile, the cooks seem to have taken a liking to a particular pizza buffet critic, and are personally walking slices out to him. The path from the kitchen to the preffered critic's table crosses right in front of your kid, and their empty plate, over and over and over. The event ends. Your money has bought your kid an empty stomach, and an empty experience. They didn't get better at what they do, and that was the whole point of making the trip.

You frustratedly tweet the following message to your half-a-million followers:

"My kid led the state in buffets evaluated last year, and today they attend a Little Caesar's Grand Opening and don't get a single slice? #PizzaPissedOff"

Your Tweet doesn't exactly capture the nuance of the situation, and it strikes a chord with multiple, passionate subsets of the "buffet criticverse". Little Caesar's fans aren't happy. Godfather's pizza fans are too busy celebrating the dig at Little Caesar's to worry about the nature of your complaint. Other high school buffet coaches and plate coordinators weigh in. An entire generation of buffet critics who fondly recall the days without sneeze guards condemn you for creating a sense of buffet entitlement. Articles are written. Judgements are made. Father are telling their kids to give a little extra elbow the next time they see your kid in the buffet line, because if you're not goint to toughen them up, someone has to.

All you wanted was to get what you paid for, and instead, you've created a hostile situation for yourself and your kid.

Did you catch the metaphor there? I'll admit that it was unforgiveably dumb, but it definitely wasn't subtle.

By now you should have heard that Kurt Warner tweeted a couple of things.

I'm going to be the one to come out and defend Kurt Warner on this one- but let me preface my argument with a few qualifications. Qualifications that are much longer than the argument I intend to make.

1) I'm not a Kurt Warner fanboy

Outside of Jake Plummer, and whoever's dropping back and flinging the pigskin for my Wyoming Cowboys, I'm not a "fan," of any quarterback. Oh, but if you're a parent of a young quarterback and you're reading this- your son. Of course I'm a fan of your son.

2) I'm definitely not a fan of football dads

I believe in expecting the best, and preparing for the worst. I love talking to parents about football, but I've experienced the ugly side of this business. I've had dads set up fake email addresses to send me "tips" about an undiscovered diamond in the rough. I've had people buy my dad, who knows nothing about high school sports, drinks at restaurants and ask him to pass along their kid's name. My brother has lost business over refusing to introduce me to a football dad. I've been called all sorts of names, had dads call me in tears over awards nominations, and been offered sponsorship deals so long as I'd give their kid a mention every now and then. Every time I'm approached by a parent, I'm simultaneously filled with excitement over the chance to talk shop, and the creeping suspicion that they're going to attempt to elevate my opinion of their kid by kicking the ladder out from someone else's. If I thought this was just another football dad speaking out of turn, I'd have no problem expressing that.

3) I've been to these camps. If not run correctly, the one-on-ones can be a complete mess

The value of one-on-one sessions at camps can vary. There usually aren't pads. The quarterbacks rotate in on every rep, so the chemistry between the passer and receiver don't factor in. There's no scrambling or pass rush, so the improvisation element goes out the window. Defenders are basically allowed to do things that would make an MMA ref, much less a high school football ref, issue a penalty. Worst of all, if the situation isn't heavily policed, you're going to have conflict over reps.

Not to disparage the company my website is partnered with (I love you Rivals!), but some of the Rivals Camps I've attended can be a great example of free-for-alls that create issues for everyone involved. More aggressive players jump the line to get extra reps, which can frustrate players who are attempting to honor the wishes of the the coaches. The coaches are incessantly barking at them to stay in a single file line, and quit inching forward and crowding the area of play. Those same coaches are the ones whose opinions matter most. Players are left with the quandary of coming off as a team player who does what they're told, or showing off their skills as many times as possible.

At last year's Five-Star Challenge in Baltimore, Saguaro's Byron Murphy was consistently jumped in line by some of the kids who had come out from California. When he was skipped over the first few times, his body language changed, and it seemed to affect his performance during his initial reps. Eventually, Murphy got into the flow of things, became more aggressive, and showed why he was one of the top 100 players in the country. At another camp last year, Chandler's Chase Lucas noticed that there were five times the amount of receivers as there were defensive backs. He switched from WR to DB and got five times the reps. In those cases, taking more initiative can be helpful. At college camps that I've been to, where you pay to participate, the reps have been very different. They're usually evenly split, and when a player does catch a coach's eye, as Chandler's Ryan Johnson did at ASU's 2015 Maroon and Gold Camp, the extra reps they receive come within the rhythm of the drill- they don't cause players to be completely shut out.

So, back to this whole Kurt Warner thing.

Look- he paid a fee for Kade Warner go to the camp. If there were kids that weren't getting reps because of the way it was run, then it makes sense that he'd have a complaint. You might not like that the complaint was aired on social media, but if you're a parent thinking of paying a fee to send your kid to a camp at University of Arizona next year, I bet you appeciate the ability to make an informed decision. I'd also be willing to wager that the Wildcats, who live and die by public perception (like every other program), will make sure there's a tad more equity in next year's one-on-one session. So on behalf of Warner, you're welcome.

Kurt Warner has every right to be as miserable a helicopter football parent as the rest of us, and the rest of us have every right to criticize miserable helicopter football parents. With a perfectly reasonable explanation in place- that they didn't get what they paid for, I refuse to believe that the ire from the masses is really necessary this time.

Requesting that the toaster you purchase at Target actually toasts bread, or an automobile that you drive off the car lot has functining brakes, isn't a mark of entitlement, or an indication that you feel you deserve special treatment.

We should give Kurt Warner a break, because he wasn't really asking for a break in the first place.

The alternative is believing that a guy who was third on Northern Iowa's depth chart until he was a senior, and went undrafted by the entire NFL, and stocked grocery shelves before playing in the Arena League, and went from third string to a Super Bowl champion with the Rams, and was benched four different times by three different teams before leading the Arizona Cardinals to the Super Bowl...

...needs a lesson from all of us on hard work, patience, and how not to act so entitled.

Given the two options, I'm leaning toward choosing to believe that maybe this guy's complaint has merit.