"...doesn't really mean anything..." and "... different experience..." don't stack up well side-by-side.
I can grant you yours with ease, without devaluing my 55 years that began with pre-I-84 rides on a school night to a cold place that first sounded like "Yukon," to being temporarily given a multi-colored ticket book that that allowed me to enter a big building with a dirt floor, walk by cheerleaders in short skirts, climb the bleacher stands, look over my shoulder to see the radio guys, watch the end of the Frosh game & full shoot around/layups, and see the UConn Huskies go up against the good & not-so-good including Dave Bing & Julius Erving. At halftime, I could walk beneath the stands to try to find the program I'd often drop, go to a concession stand by myself, and return to my dad and his friends in time to resume keeping score (which was much simpler than baseball).
I'll stop there.