In a move that's equal parts sci-fi thriller and midlife crisis, Tom Brady has announced his retirement from professional football—for what feels like the umpteenth time. But this isn't your standard fade-into-the-sunset gig. No, the seven-time Super Bowl champ is ditching the NFL to coach a team of his own clones in a backyard league he's dubbing the 'Brady Bunch Brawl.'

Sources close to Brady (or should we say, his DNA?) reveal that the quarterback invested a chunk of his fortune into cutting-edge cloning tech. The result? A squad of pint-sized Tom Bradys, each about three feet tall, genetically engineered to throw perfect spirals and whine about deflated footballs. 'It's like having a dozen mini-mes to mold into gridiron gods,' Brady reportedly said, while sipping on an avocado smoothie.

The backyard league, set up in Brady's sprawling Tampa estate, features makeshift goalposts made from pool noodles and end zones marked by strategically placed yoga mats. Opponents include neighborhood kids, disgruntled ex-teammates, and apparently, a rogue group of Gisele Bündchen lookalikes who keep crashing practices to demand alimony from the clones.

Critics are already calling it a desperate grab for immortality. 'Tom's not retiring; he's multiplying,' quipped one sports analyst. 'Next thing you know, he'll be cloning referees to ensure every call goes his way.' Brady, unfazed, insists this is about legacy. 'These little guys have my arm, my charm, and unfortunately, my aversion to carbs,' he joked.

Training sessions are a sight to behold: tiny Toms dodging sprinklers like they're blitzing linebackers, while the original Brady barks orders from a lawn chair. Rumors swirl that he's already scouting for clone cheerleaders and a miniature Vince Lombardi Trophy. If this works, expect Brady to franchise the concept—because why stop at one backyard when you can conquer them all?

Of course, not everyone's thrilled. Animal rights groups are protesting, mistaking the clones for some kind of designer pet project. And ethicists? They're having a field day debating if coaching your own DNA violates child labor laws. Brady's response? 'They're not kids; they're extensions of greatness.'

As the first game approaches—against a team of retired quarterbacks' holograms—fans are left wondering: Is this the future of sports, or just Tom Brady's way of never truly saying goodbye? One thing's for sure: In the world of eternal glory, Brady's playing the long game, one clone at a time.