This was before a Game 7 many years ago, back when Eric Lindros was one of the bold-faced names in all of sports. Lindros’ Flyers were a day away from hosting the Devils for the right to advance to the Stanley Cup final, and Philadelphia was electric with anticipation.

Someone asked Lindros, “If you win, you’ll be a king around here.”

Lindros, by then 500 games into his career, a Hart Trophy already on his mantel, smiled and said, “For the weekend, at least.”

We like to think we’re a tough room in New York. But years later, when Lindros was playing for the Rangers, Lindros said, “They get on you here, sure, but they also appreciate your body of work. You don’t have to dance for your dinner every shift, the way you have to in other cities.”

He didn’t mention the city in question. He didn’t have to.

This is what Bryce Harper has jumped into. On the one hand, he has been playing in the NL East for years, he’s played either nine or 10 games in each of those years at Citizens Bank Park, he has heard what a Philly crowd can be about. He’s been lustily booed for most of his appearances there.

But there is a difference between being booed as a visitor and being booed as a member of the home team. And Philly, more than any sports city in America, prides itself on holding its own athletes to a high standard. Almost every Philadelphia star has been forced to endure a hazing or heckling at one time or another.

This is where, according to legend, Santa Claus was booed by Eagles fans.

There is some question as to whether that actually happened, but, as the man in “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance” said: “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”

So on that one hand: good for Harper for choosing the more challenging path. Look, it is easy to say that at 13 years and $330 million, he should have skin thick enough to reflect criticism and ears and a confidence broad enough to deflect it. And that is fair.

But they don’t boo guys in Los Angeles like they boo them in Philly. They don’t boo guys in San Francisco the way they boo them in Philly. Harper could have gotten silly rich in California. Manny Machado got silly rich last month — but he’ll be counting his money in user-friendly San Diego. Nolan Arenado got silly rich last month — but he’ll be spending the next seven years in Denver, where booing the home teams is a civic felony.

Harper?

When he slumps, he’ll hear about it. When the Phillies endure losing streaks, the locals will be looking for someone to blame, and that blame almost always falls on the shoulders of the highest-profile — and highest-paid — member of that team. He will hear plenty of cheers too — Philly fans are nothing if loud, passionate and engaged — but his honeymoon will be short and the fans’ patience shorter.

Of course, there is an upside. If you do win it all in Philly, then all booing bets are off — ask Nick Foles. In the last 60 years, going back to the 1960 seasons, Philadelphia has won a total of eight championships — two each among the Eagles, Phillies, Flyers and Sixers. If you do scale that mountain, you are bulletproof. You are Chuck Bednarik. You are Julius Erving. You are Bobby Clarke. You are Chase Utley.

But you must earn your way into that pantheon. Bryce Harper hasn’t had to do that yet. From the first day he walked into the Nationals clubhouse, he was the biggest name in Washington’s baseball history since Walter Johnson. When he struggled — and he DID struggle; for all his undeniable talent, his only top-10 MVP year was the season he won it, 2015 — it was met with a yawn.

When the team underachieved — and it never did win a playoff series with him — there was a shrug and a sigh and a chorus of “Wait till next year.”

He could have had that for the rest of his career. He chose something else. He’ll know soon enough just how profoundly different that path is.