The terraform ships searched the galaxy for the perfect conditions:
The right amount of gravity.
A reasonable level of atmospheric pressure.
Planetary rotation that would cause just a hint of Coriolis Force.
Biological support for grass, or a reasonable hybrid or facsimile of grass.
After that, the rest was just icing on the cake: wood for bats, animals or polymer substitutes for the gloves and balls.
Some said that it just wasn’t real baseball without the hot dogs and beer, but they were welcome to stay home on the charred-out cinder of a planet.
Green… blue… grass is grass, right?