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Want to know what it feels like to be an outsider? Try wearing a Twins jersey to an away game.

That’s what my friend Steve and I did six times in the past few weeks—four in Yankee Stadium and two in Fenway Park in Boston—as part of Steve’s epic journey to follow his beloved Minnesota Twins into every away ballpark over the next two seasons. When you show up in New England wearing a navy blue Eddie Rosario jersey, there’s no place to hide.

Steve at Yankee Stadium, rocking his Byung-Ho Park jersey.

That’s good news, of course, for those of us who wanted to find others in our baseball tribe. All we had to do is meander around the stadiums before the game, looking for Twins gear. We met at least a hundred fellow fans, including the family of Edouard Julien, the Twins rookie who got his first big-league hit and his first home run in the same inning on our first night in the Bronx. We were never more than a few rows from fellow Twinkie supporters, and so never felt alone. Besides, the home fans in both parks were friendly and courteous—something I’ve been conditioned as a midwesterner to not expect from anyone on the coasts.

That being said, the two stadiums offered a marked difference in hospitality.

In terms of amenities, Yankee Stadium was the place to be. For three of the games, Steve scored tickets that included free delivery from concessions if you placed a mobile order. Two of our seats included drinks and snacks, if you showed the snazzy neon wristband to the usher guarding the door. Almost anything you wanted at a ball game was there for the taking.

If you want to shell out the money, that is.

In the sixth inning of our last game at Yankee Stadium, a security guard began walking through our section and kicking out anyone who did not have a ticket for that section. As people grumbled on their way out, the guard offered a succinct explanation. “You didn't pay for it.”

Steve and I debated whether or not they should have been allowed to stay, but for the people around us there seemed to be no question. Those who paid extra for the inclusive seats didn’t want to be seated next to those who didn’t, even if the interlopers had no wristbands and so couldn’t eat our snacks. Even if all they were stealing was a view. Even if there was plenty of space for all of us.

Fenway Park was different, if not vastly so. We still couldn’t get into the suites or the sections behind home place, but there was room to move. Our friend Erik, who lives 30 minutes from the stadium by train, told us after the third inning we could claim pretty much any empty seat without worry, as long as we respected our neighbors and didn’t cause a scene.

More than anything else, that one little difference in hospitality impacted my experience. I will always be able to tell people I saw the Twins play in Yankee Stadium and Fenway Park. But if I have the chance to go back to one or the other, I’ll choose Boston every time.

Granted, all I have is a snapshot of the two. The Red Sox haven’t been very good of late, and ownership is just glad to have people in the stands. If tickets become more of a premium, or if too many people start taking unfair advantage of their pricing tiers, ushers will probably crack down.

Still, it strikes me how vastly different hospitality looks at the various social and economic rungs of a ballpark—or the rest of life, for that matter. Material goods and services inevitably change according to purchasing power, and I can live with that.

Steve, Erik, and I freezing atop the Green Monster at Fenway.

But it also seems to me that generosity is better business in the long run, and better for our souls. I don’t want to be the kind of person who gets a family kicked out of an open row, simply because they paid a different price.

On our last night at Boston, we bought standing room only tickets atop the Green Monster, one of sports most iconic landmarks. The usher stamped our hand on the way in to show that we belonged in that section. I generally hate such insider/outsider markings, but I get it. Real estate is scarce in that section, and it’s honestly dangerous to have too many people that high up in that narrow a space.

Once we were beyond the gate, she told us, “Standing room at the back, but if no one is sitting on the stools by the third inning, go ahead. I’m not going to stop you if there’s room.”

Makes sense to me.