Consider the hardened football fanatic who, electing a particularly brutal form of group-regulation, will drunkenly condemn normal people for their woefully imperfect geographical proximity to the team they support.
Let's not forget how Man Utd fans wear green and yellow in protest against their club's debt-burdened American owners, while Liverpool fans have barely enunciated any kind of satisfactory tones since the club won a league title that has since evaded them for the best part of twenty years.
Consider the trainspotters who endlessly lament the bleakness of modern convenience-led carriage designs. The Radiohead fans who will visibly recoil at the mention of any album released after 1997. The X-Factor viewers who cry phone-poll conspiracy when they favourite act is booted. The Pulp Fiction obsessive who re-cut the film so it played out in chronological order.
Passion surrounds us. Such devotion finances entire industries and builds communities. Gamers are no different, nor should they be. Entitlement comes with the territory. It comes with the profound excitement and endless spending.
There is one central difference that singles games out. The industry, built on the foundation of direct interaction with customers, has naturally cultivated a highly-networked and involved market.
Films producers and musicians may have active communities and official fan websites in which people can air their views, but this level of interaction is feeble compared to what the games industry is doing.
We're at a stage where a gamer can personally invest in a project through Kickstarter, test the experience of a project through closed betas and protest the policies of a publisher through Metacritic graffiti.
The industry is at the forefront of digital entertainment, cultivating the kind of feedback loop that other industries would envy tremendously if only they were able to understand them.
It is in this culture that the views of a gamer are amplified and absorbed directly by games creators. As a stupendous musclehead in a tanning salon suggests, the world is packed with impassioned loons. It's only in games that, quite brilliantly, their voice travels further and deeper.
Perhaps a few lessons in grammar and etiquette wouldn't go amiss, but what Fils-Aime and Harada need to accept is the games industry wouldn't be what it is today without the entitled, annoying, insatiable and brilliant demands from its fans.