Some women toil at fastfood wages to get ahead in the traditionally male realm of sports journalism — enduring scorn, surliness and sexism on the road to the locker room.

And then there’s Jenn Sterger.

Jenn was a giddy, slightchested college co-ed who rocketed to cheap stardom in 2005 when ABC broadcast her cheering at a Florida State University football game wearing a cowboy hat, a low-cut top — and little else.

“Fifteen-hundred red-blooded Americans just decided to apply to Florida State,” gushed commentator Brent Musburger.

Jenn’s career peaked, if you will, with Playboy and Maxim photo shoots. And surgery that made her the nation’s most celebrated boob-job recipient.

“I don’t think it makes me shallow,” Jenn said of her $11,000 rack. (She later said the implants had “served their purpose” and announced their removal.) The Jets handed the chest-obsessed darling the vague and tantalizing title of “game-day hostess,” an eerie precursor to Tiger Woods’ “VIP club hostesses.”

But now, says Jenn, 27, with the seriousness of a BP executive crossed with a Hooters girl, “I just want my life back.”

“To be able to go back to enjoying what I do. Entertaining people. Making people laugh.”

Jenn’s words were recorded, as studiously as one might take down the digits of Bill Gates’ bank account, last week by George Stephanopolous on “Good Morning America.” Jenn received a positively presidential two hours of network air time to talk about her alleged, unwanted, 2008 sighting of Brett Favre’s penis.

“I’m not a gold digger,” she insisted. “I haven’t made a dime off anything in this whole situation.”

Last year, Ines Sainz, self-proclaimed “hottest sports reporter in Mexico,” got weeks of publicity by claiming she was harassed by the New York Jets — then turned around and said the boys were “just kidding.” Recent Sainz broadcasts include one in which she measured the biceps of players for the Indianapolis Colts.

It’s emblematic of these overrecorded and oversexed times that two of the most jarring football stories in 13 months involved not touchdowns or performance-enhancing drugs, but women who claimed harassment at the hands of overgrown pituitary cases — but never said, “No.”

Sterger admitted she knew the gross and desperate sexts and phone messages came from married grandfather Favre. But, in the next breath, she said, “Whenever I would reply [to the texts], it was more to try to figure out who I was interacting with.” Her sustained flirtation — which Jenn said she interrupted to tell Favre, “I’m busy!” — must have affected the oaf like catnip.

The behavior has some sports journalists wincing.

“Women I’ve spoken to want to separate themselves from women like Jenn Sterger and Ines Sainz,” said Pamela Laucella, academic director of the National Sports Journalism Center at Indiana University. “I think there’s a line between entertainment and sports.”

Or, could Jenn be a golden example of the way women think they must act to succeed in sports? Is she vixen or victim?

“Sadly, this is stuff we dealt with 20 years ago. Athletes thought we went into the locker room to get dates!” said Shelley Smith of ESPN. She was once shoved into the showers by Bubba Paris of the San Francisco 49ers — but didn’t make a fuss.

“You don’t want to be your own news, you want to cover the news.” Still, she’s sympathetic to the plight of the bimbo. “The lines are blurred [between sports and entertainment]. But that’s life.”

So who loses?

Jenn, who’s lately worked for Fuel TV, got a boost in her bid for a new job. Favre, who admits he sexted her — but denies sending naked pictures — hasn’t been served with divorce papers. Yet.

Female sports reporters lose. It’s no longer enough to be in the trenches.

Better to be a 34D.

Lohan-Gotti so perfect, it’s criminal

That wacky press conference starring Lindsay Lohan, Victoria Gotti and John Travolta — plus a mob of Gotti clan members — had people in the know scratching their heads.

Hollywood and Howard Beach stormed Midtown last week to announce the filming of “Gotti: Three Generations,” with Travolta as John “Dapper Don” Gotti.

Lohan, who wants to play his daughter, Victoria, was dressed to maim in platinum hair extensions — although the human train wreck has yet to be cast in the movie.

“I’ve never seen a press conference about a film that’s not been finished,” said one Hollywood type. “It seems a ploy for publicity. Maybe they need cash?”

The filmmakers promise a sympathetic portrait of Gotti, a convicted killer who died in federal prison in 2002. Taking responsibility for one’s crimes is not a priority here. Lindsay, apparently, approves.

Time for somebody to think of the boy

Lashanda Armstrong committed vicious, premeditated mass murder when she plunged her minivan into the Hudson River in Newburgh, killing herself and three of her kids — after posting on Facebook, “I’m sorry everyone forgive me please for what I’m gonna do . . . This is it!!!”

Armstrong tried to kill all four of her children, but her 10-year-old son swam from the van after a futile attempt to save his brothers, ages 2 and 5, and his 11-month-old sister. An aunt praised Armstrong as a “good mother” who was frantic over her relationship with deadbeat Jean Pierre.

A reader was upset that the dead woman’s family will probably get custody of the surviving boy.

“I don’t think that child should grow up thinking that’s what a ‘good mother’ does,” the woman cried. She’s right. This was the ultimate, selfish act.

HE WAS HOOKED AT A YOUNG AGE

Bill Clinton waxed nostalgic for the “romantic” and “fascinating” pimps and ho’s of yesteryear’s Times Square. In 1964, when Bill was 18, “I saw a hooker approach a man in a gray flannel suit. Pretty heavy stuff for a guy from Arkansas,” the former president said last week as he appeared with Mayor Bloomberg to praise the clear air of the new Times Square — and thanked those dreaded pedestrian plazas.

But his heart seemed to be elsewhere.

“I bought a steak at Tad’s Steakhouse. I heard a guy ream his mother out, poor working woman, because she’d given him a hi-fi instead of a stereo speaker. I remember everything about it,” Clinton gushed. “Yes, look, I still have vivid memories of it. Romantic. Fascinating.”

Times Square wasn’t romantic in the late ’80s/early ’90s when the streets grew desolate, dark and depressing. Bill probably never visited then. Few did.

Why ruin his buzz?

Guilty pleasure lost

An era ends. ABC is canceling “All My Children” and “One Life to Live” — soaps I began watching as a kid home sick with mono. Never again will we see this combination of atrocious acting, Susan Lucci and wacky storytelling (affairs, amnesia, more affairs). I mourn the loss.