What a month it’s been for baseball. The Chicago Cubs won their first World Series since 1908, and the Minnesota Twins gave the wheel to a couple of guys who never played a minute of pro ball.

Not long ago, both seemed impossible.

For Twins fans worn out by the past six years — you know, like, all of them — Monday had to be a wonderful day. Maybe not worth a downtown parade, but monumental just the same. Shamed by six mostly terrible seasons of baseball, the insular, dogmatic, old-fashioned Twins have thrown up their hands and surrendered to vanguard.

The introductions of Derek Falvey and Thad Levine officially brought to an end a long, and not unsuccessful, reign of old-school major league baseball in Minnesota. The Twins won three American League pennants and two World Series, and groomed Hall of Fame players such as Harmon Killebrew, Rod Carew and Kirby Puckett, but the game had in some way passed them by.

The Twins didn’t ignore modern conventions such as advanced statistics and holistic medicine, but they didn’t embrace them, either — like a grandparent who finally gets rid of the land line but still has a flip phone. They were unable to commit, and therefore unable to use the new tools to their best advantage.

Now they’re all in.

Falvey, 33, and Levine, 44, are graduates of the Wharton School of Baseball, former small-school college players who actually went to class. They never rode a bus from Biloxi, Miss., to Chattanooga, Tenn., but they learned to think critically. Never felt the pressure of a high draft pick, but found the logic of trusting fact-based evidence over a gut feeling.

Simply put, they lean analytics, which should please those who process baseball through exit velocity and fielding-independent pitching. It’s Christmas, boys and girls. These guys should have months on a SABR calendar.

Advanced analytics, Levine said, “will be infused into every single decision we make, whether that’s a selection in the draft, the development track of a specific player in the minor leagues, or major acquisitions at the major league level.”

Levine, who earned an MBA from UCLA and started his career in the business department of the Los Angeles Dodgers, is quick to emphasize that metrics are “a piece of the puzzle,” but he and Falvey see it as a bigger piece than the previous regime, built largely by Terry Ryan, a former minor leaguer who built his reputation — and several very good baseball teams — on talent evaluation.

“The talent evaluators are truly the difference-makers in the game,” Levine said.

But more and more, they are not the guys in charge. And for those who question the wisdom of this tilt in power, I give you Theo Epstein, who at 42 already has ended the two biggest curses in major league history, 86 years in Boston (2004) and 108 on Chicago’s North Side (2016). An Ivy Leaguer who never played pro baseball, he is the avatar foretold by Bill James.

Davey Johnson and Billy Beane came first, but they were major league players, and therefore impure. The idea isn’t to eliminate the eye test, or to eradicate the notion that some people are just winners. The idea is to never let such unreliable data be the determining factor in any decision.

Falvey envisions an organization that uses every piece of information at its disposal, from numbers to medical charts to in-person interviews, to make critical, analytical decisions.

“It’s when you’re challenging your assumptions, challenging that evidence, to make sure you’re not being biased against making a sound baseball recommendation,” he said.

Suddenly, it’s the Twins Way.