(FORTUNE Magazine) – Last month's south-of-the-border series between the New York Mets and the San Diego Padres, marking the first time official Major League Baseball games have been played outside the U.S. and Canada, came wrapped up in one giant tortilla of hoopla. "La Primera Serie," as the games were trumpeted, found sportswriters descending on Monterrey from all over the U.S. and scrambling to send local-spice-laden dispatches home. But long after the last crack of a bat had dissolved into the sultry Nuevo Leonian air, the question lingered: Por que? Why big-league baseball, why Mexico, why now?

The simple answer is that the Republican National Convention held in San Diego forced the Padres to seek new digs for a scheduled home series. The substitute venue they chose cleverly suited the team's interests at the same time that it supported the aims of the city of Monterrey and Major League Baseball as a whole. The Padres are under new ownership, which has made a concerted effort over the past two seasons to turn the team into a franchise for the San Diego-Tijuana metropolitan area. "We're a baseball team with a foreign policy," says CEO Larry Lucchino, who's spearheaded numerous efforts to draw in Mexican fans--everything from chartered cross-border buses to stepped-up Spanish-language TV broadcasts.

Monterrey, meanwhile, beat out Tijuana for the honor of hosting the series. This city of 2.5 million, Mexico's third-largest, desperately wants a big-league franchise. It's got the profile: Located in north-central Mexico, with excellent transportation links, Monterrey has the potential to draw fans from a vast area, including such border towns as Nuevo Laredo. As a center of industry, most conspicuously the beermaker that brews Tecate and Carta Blanca, the city is kind of a Mexican Milwaukee. It's got the stadium, too: Estadio Monterrey is often considered the country's best for baseball.

But as often happens when a city tries to prove itself to the larger world, there were some wrinkles. Estadio Monterrey, which seats 25,644--half the capacity of most U.S. stadiums--failed to sell out. Even after a thorough makeover, the ballpark was adjudged to be below U.S. big-league standards. Mets centerfielder Lance Johnson missed a ball at one point and later complained, "You can't see the ball down here" (i.e., he lost the ball in Mexico, a fresh twist on that classic excuse, "I lost it in the sun").

Nevertheless, the fans got about as worked up as is possible for a below-capacity crowd in a small, subpar stadium. "Mas carerras" (more runs) implored the scoreboard repeatedly; periodically "la ola" (the wave) came crashing through the stands. All of it was cause for optimism for Pepe Maiz, a local businessman who owns the stadium's resident Mexican League team, los Sultanes. "Now may not be the exact time," he said. "But we're going to get Major League Baseball sooner or later."

What does MLB stand to gain? Visiting execs were no doubt heartened by the it's-a-small-world-after-all factor everywhere in evidence. The crowd was an international marketer's dream--logoed accessories that pledged allegiance to the Cowboys, the Bulls, Nike, were ubiquitous. But a casual observer couldn't help noticing that fans were more likely to wear licensed merchandise from sports other than baseball. Obviously, poor as they are compared with Americans, Mexican consumers are willing to buy this stuff (ball caps at the series cost about $17, roughly the cost of 13 beers at the concession stand). MLB's goal is to carve up a bigger slice of the global sports-marketing pie.

As it is, baseball's slice is much less generous than football's and basketball's. The NFL beamed the Super Bowl to 800 million people in 187 countries this past January; the NBA had international retail merchandising sales of $400 million last year, twice that of baseball.

Then again, baseball's appeal has always lain in tradition, in being less flashy than other sports. Deep into the TV age, MLB still relies on grassroots efforts to recruit new fans. Currently, MLB has a program that sends college coaches to places like Italy to teach fundamentals to kids who don't know a fungo bat from fusilli. "You've got to let fans touch the game, feel it, have their own personal memories," says Tim Brosnan, CEO of MLB International.

By that measure, the Monterrey tryout was a success. A typical fan was Jose Luis Hernandez, who took his son, Jose Jr., age 7, to the big-league ball game. "We really want a major league team," explained the elder Hernandez. His son, grinning beneath his officially licensed "La Primera Serie" commemorative ball cap, couldn't have agreed more.

--Justin Martin