I wore a Pirates hat around Philadelphia. And all I got was love.

The young man in the Kyle Schwarber jersey said “Hey, what’s up?” with a smile to the gray-bearded visitor wearing a Pirates hat and taking a seat beside him at Citizens Bank Park.

And with that simple, ordinary but gracious gesture, Philadelphians began an April weekend in which they turned a 65-year-old Pittsburgher’s lifelong impression of them upside down.

It was the start of a cross-state trip in which this new retiree planned to visit a friend, see my favorite sports team play a couple of games, and tempt fate in a couple of large casinos I’d never been to.

It was not supposed to be a journey to make new friends.

I’m not the gregarious type who does well with strangers. When I walk into a party, people don’t gravitate toward me. If I’m seeking a drink in a pub, the bartender will generally make contact with every other animate object before acknowledging me.

I long ago accepted this curse of social invisibility, just as I learned since biting into my first pierogi that Pennsylvanians on opposite sides of the state have their own customs and rivalries (Sheetz vs. Wawa, anyone?), and, as such, will often not get along.

In Pittsburgh, we think of ourselves as Midwestern Nice, with the assumption that Philadelphians are Northeastern Pushy. And the Philly sports fans? Just the worst, whether to their own underachieving athletes, to you-know-who near Christmas, or — especially — to out-of-towners. It seems like half the time when social media highlights (lowlights?) a brawl between sports patrons, it is in a Philadelphia arena or stadium.

But, wait, didn’t I read last August about Phillies fans wildly cheering Trea Turner in the midst of a terrible slump early in his career in red pinstripes? What was up with that?

I’ll tell you what’s up with that: Philadelphians are the friendliest darned people to visitors of those I’ve come across in any city.

It wasn’t just my Kyle Schwarber-loving seatmate and his buddy, both half my age, who were very knowledgeable and very enthusiastic fans, to the point where they loudly applauded the range of attendees with disabilities introduced on the field in pregame ceremonies.

It was also the young man having a cheesesteak at the table next to mine in Geno’s at Live! Philadelphia. Out of nowhere, he started a fun, smart, detailed conversation with me about Philadelphia and Pittsburgh sports of all stripes.

It was the female poker player next to me at one of the casinos who had recently celebrated her 50th birthday and initiated an amiable chat throughout, exchanging an occasional high five, swapping stories about life’s travels.

And most unexpectedly of all, it was the guy a couple of stools down from me late at night at Chickie’s & Pete’s at Parx Casino. We traded tales about the day’s gambling adventures. He had won money playing the casino version of the War card game, while I could not say the same with poker.

Before our separate checks for meals and drinks arrived, he said to the bartender — while handing him a roll of bills and gesturing toward me — “Hey, I’ve got this guy, and get him another Guinness, too.”

Wait, what?

I could recall no stranger offering to buy me anything in my six-plus decades on the planet. And he wasn’t offering — he was just doing. I’m pretty sure that, despite our different fortunes on one day, I’ve got a lot more funds stashed away in my bank account and IRA than is the case for my 40-something benefactor. Part of me wanted to politely decline his generosity, but I also sensed that would have seemed small and ungracious.

So it was all as though the Philadelphia Convention and Visitors Bureau had put out the word in advance: Hey, we’ve got an image to overcome with this older guy making a five-hour trip to give a very modest boost to our local economy. He will be extremely inconspicuous other than wearing his Pirates hat the entire time. Be on the lookout and show him plenty of brotherly love.

And man did you guys deliver.

Yes, I was very pleased to be in Citizens Bank Park for Andrew McCutchen’s 300th home run. I will always remember that. What I will recall and treasure more is the warmth shown by Philadelphians, as fine a people as can be found anywhere.

Gary Rotstein is a longtime journalist who was a writer and editor for multiple media outlets, including the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.