LeBron James turned 30 last week. As we know, 30 is basically the end of anything good for human beings. Your muscles and joints start to creak and ache during mundane tasks, your skin sags from your bones "like sleeve of wizard" and you're lucky if you can keep your penis at half-mast without chemical aid. It’s the end.

But LeBron is a superhuman galactic-class athlete. He'll be one of the best players in the NBA for the duration of the decade. Sure, he's currently taking a couple weeks off to rest sore knees, but that's a minor concern compared to his one true weakness: his aging hairline.

LeBron's publicly mocked battle with follicular recession has gone on too long. It's time for a momentum shift. It's time for a fourth quarter comeback. We, the basketball watching community, who have seen him grow up before our eyes and, subsequently, his hairline recede across his dome like a steadily melting glacier, support him in his struggle. It's time to Diane Lane this life shit and age gracefully. It's time to Bruce Willis this shit and embrace the baldness with confidence.

Listen, I'm not tryna be an asshole about hair. I know and respect many men of varying ages who suffer from the bald, warriors against the cruel realities of time and genetics. It's hard, I'm sure. But LeBron can do things few humans on the entire planet can even fathom, and he's self-conscious about his hair? Dog, I'm speaking directly to my friend LeBron now, that's actually charming. It's nice to know you're human after all, but it is also distracting from your triumphs. You don't need to do this, the constant widening and repositioning of your signature headband, the rumors about experimenting with plugs. Gross. I don't know anything about hair restoration tactics, but I know letting nature do it's thing is usually the best option.

Aging without self-consciousness is a genuine modern struggle. LeBron is the the first superstar of the social media age, the first to have everything he does ripped apart by a bunch of nerdy white basketball bloggers on Twitter. But after all LeBron has conquered on the court, I wish he'd embrace the wisdom of old age. He's tasked with leading a ramshackle team of offensive players to a championship. Homie doesn't have time to worry about hair. Bron, let that shit go. Rally your troops for a late-season push and an improbable finals run where you'll eventually lose to whomever wins the West.

Angelo Spagnolo is a writer living in Brooklyn. You can follow him on Twitter here.