Congratulations, Tom Brady, on retiring from football and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers this past week after a few days of will-he-won't-he speculation. It was a sexy Sam and Diane thing, except you were Diane and the rest of the football world was Sam, and I guess that makes Gronk Frasier?

Anyway, we're not here to talk "Cheers," although booze is a factor. We're here to talk food. The joy of terrible, processed nothings. The freedom of ordering the most disgusting menu item. The gift of simple carbs in this wicked morass.

It seems you biohacked your way to at least some of those seven Super Bowl wins, sticking to a diet that eschews instead of es-CHEWS. Get it? Your TB12 regimen is plant-based and avoids sugar, alcohol, corn and, as we say when the list gets too long, "more." Your almond consumption is legendary. Electrolytes, unmatched.

Fans around the country are thankful for your commitment to peak physical condition. And while it is possible you — shudder — truly like to eat bone broth and birdseed, perhaps the moderation scale can tip now. Your halcyon avocado tequila days were a tease for the culinary journey ahead.

You'll need help. Thomas Q. Brady, please report to the freezer section for training!

Look, Tompa Bay, you've missed some food trends. Ever had a French toast bagel? It's like eating four slices of bread covered in sugar bricks. How about a cronut? A hot chocolate bomb? Pizza cone? Oh, wow, have you even tried the Popeye's chicken sandwich?

Speaking of the drive-thru, Tomothy: The other day, as I left the gym and went through McDonald's — that's a thing you can do now! — I noticed they're publicizing a hack menu. Ask for the "Land, Air and Sea," which combines two burger patties, a McChicken patty and the Filet-O-Fish in one sandwich. This will be a harrowing page in your memoirs.

You speak so kindly of your wife, Gisele Bundchen, and your union no one would dare put asunder. I'm just saying, a lady named Little Debbie asked for your number. Her friends Takis Blue Heat and Fritos Flamin' Hot Bar-B-Q are an acquired taste, but you'll get used to them.

Have you ever eaten popcorn from a gas station? Well, well, well. Here's what I'm going to need you to do, Tom-o-rama. Go to the nearest Speedway. It has to be a Speedway. Now, find the chip zone. Select the Speedy Choice Fire Roasted Sweet Corn flavor. It cannot be any other flavor. Just do it. Now, get me two extra bags.

When you're in New York on the talk show circuit, stop at Milk Bar. Get a cereal milk shake, a red velvet cheesecake, a 12-pack of corn cookies, some truffles, six pies and a whimsical T-shirt. And speaking of cream cheese, Thomas Aquinas, you may order off any section of the Cheesecake Factory menu, not just the insert with the salads. Tex-Mex Eggrolls, stat!

Dearest Thomas' English Muffin, the time has come to consume confit. That means something cooked slowly in fat, preferably its own. Once you finish your meal, simply pour the grease into Mason jars. Then you can use it to make fries! That's what we call a game-winning play.

One word, Romantic Tomedy: Bechamel.

Of course you will stay healthy, Tommy Bahama. That's your whole thing, and you've got supplements to sell. But we love to see your wild side, so please. Just post one Instagram of yourself eating hot dog-laden Jolly Spaghetti and peach pies at Jollibee. The fans are ready.

Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on Twitter or @stephrhayes on Instagram.

Photo credit: andreas160578 at Pixabay