I was in a grim enough mood already this morning, and then I chanced upon this missive from the New York Times that made the day even worse. The title lays the sad plaint out clearly enough: “Black Equestrians Want To Be Safe. But They Can’t Find Helmets.” The reason? Some of them want to have really big hair and not have to either cut or style it such that it fits underneath the sorts of helmets necessary for equestrian safety.

Black equestrians have long felt virtually invisible in a sport that remains overwhelmingly white. For those with natural hair, which for many is a declaration of pride and Black identity, finding a helmet that fits properly can be nearly impossible, creating yet another barrier to full inclusion. Some are now lobbying for change, mindful that horseback riding is among the leading causes of sports-related traumatic brain injury. The helmet companies say there isn’t a simple fix.

The problem, you see, is this: Helmets and human skulls, being physical objects, have physical properties. Helmet engineers are not willing to expose riders to potential traumatic brain injury (or themselves to liability) based on standards that vary with your haircut that particular day. And the laws of physics are not particularly inclined to negotiate with the desires of humankind on the grounds of “equity.”

I, however, am. I can recognize injustice when I see it and realize that a solution must be found. Therefore, I propose to resolve this problem the simplest way possible: In order to ensure nobody feels excluded from the sport of equestrianism because of his or her hairstyle, the equitable solution is to euthanize all the horses.

I’m a “bottom line” sort of guy, and this proposal would solve a number of problems at once: glue shortages, FDA school-lunch protein requirements, and racial exclusion from dressage. As for the horses? Well, I’m not a bigot who would propose that humans adapt to the physical realities of the sport they’ve chosen rather than the other way around. Sorry, Secretariat, here’s your two weeks’ severance. Man-o’-war? Remove your epaulettes and proceed to the brig. Trigger? Time to go behind the barn and get acquainted to the business end of one.

And once we’re done leveling the equine playing field, we should turn to draining the world’s swimming pools: The horror stories I could tell you about what big hair will do to your competitive race times as you battle the dense bigotry of water drag would spawn an entire new generation of activists.

I don’t make these rules. But I am prepared to enforce them, if asked to.