Jenn Sterger on the Brett Favre Sexting Scandal, 15 Years Later

Time​ Magazine

20-05-2025

The Netflix documentary Untold: The Fall of Favre, out today, goes deep on two controversies that have stained the legacy Super Bowl champion and Hall of Fame quarterback Brett Favre: his alleged harassment of former New York Jets field reporter Jenn Sterger in 2008, and his involvement in the diversion of public welfare funds in Mississippi to Favre's alma mater, Southern Mississippi, to pay for a volleyball facility—his daughter was on the team—and to a concussion-drug company in which Favre was the top investor. (Favre has denied wrongdoing in the Mississippi case and hasn't been criminally charged; he has never publicly commented on the harassment allegations.)
The documentary details how Favre allegedly sent unsolicited lewd photos to Sterger during his only season playing for the Jets, and Sterger emerges as the moral center of The Fall of Favre, which is co-produced by TIME Studios. When Favre's recklessness became public two years after the incident, in 2010, Sterger found herself embroiled in an explosive tabloid scandal that derailed her promising media career.
Favre, who's been married to his wife Deanna since 1996, reportedly admitted to sending voice mails to Sterger, but denied to NFL investigators sharing photos of his privates. In Fall of Favre, however, Sterger makes a compelling case that Favre, who did not participate in the documentary, sent inappropriate messages. When asked by TIME if she'd like to share a message for Favre, more than 15 years later, Sterger demurs. 'I don't think I'm there yet,' she says. 'I'm still processing it all.' She pauses for a moment. 'The hardest thing to do is to forgive someone who hasn't necessarily asked for it and doesn't care that they've harmed you,' says Sterger. 'I don't think he stays up at night thinking about me. I don't think he stays up at night thinking about the people in Mississippi.'
(A representative for Favre did not respond to TIME's request for comment.)
Sterger serves another reminder of how the media, and public, so often mistreated women who became the butt of late-night monologue jokes, and of toxic backlash, particularly in the pre- #MeToo era. Recent cultural touchstones—essays, podcasts, movies, documentaries—have helped reshape the narratives around 'controversial' figures such as Monica Lewinsky, who was portrayed in a negative light even though the President abused his power in their relationship; Janet Jackson, whose career suffered far worse than Justin Timberlake's after the infamous 'wardrobe malfunction' at the 2004 Super Bowl halftime show; and Britney Spears, whose conservatorship was finally terminated in 2021 (#freebritney).
The Fall of Favre should add Sterger's name to this list of dehumanized figures worth a serious second look. The Favre story was a bombshell, as it involved a revered NFL quarterback allegedly doing very questionable things during the waning years of his standout career. Sterger's name was unwittingly plastered across every TV news and sports show around the country. She did not initiate any kind of relationship with Favre, who made his name with the Green Bay Packers from 1992 through 2007. 'I never met him,' Sterger tells TIME. 'Put that in all capital letters.' She did not consent to the public revelation of Favre's messages in Deadspin, whose then-editor later admitted that Sterger had told him about them off the record. She lost job opportunities and received blame for tearing down a hero.
Sterger says in the documentary that she 'played the game.' She took advantage of a market that rewarded attractive young women who appealed to a largely male sports audience. She posed in Playboy and Maxim and on occasion wore tight or revealing clothing while doing her work. But she in no way compelled Favre to act badly. During one cringeworthy clip in the documentary, a New York City radio host essentially victim-blames the recipient of alleged workplace sexual harassment. 'Why are we shocked that a football player wanted to sleep with you?' Craig Carton asked Sterger in 2011. 'You were selling sex. He bought it.'
'My life was ruined,' says Sterger in The Fall of Favre. 'And he went to the Hall of Fame.'
Before Sterger and Favre both began working with the Jets in 2008, Sterger had developed her own online following, in the pre-Twitter, -Instagram and -TikTok days. A high school band geek from Tampa, she was one of the original influencers, long before that term resonated with anyone. Her life changed overnight when, during a nationally televised Florida State-Miami football game in the fall of 2005, Sterger appeared on screens while cheering for Florida State—where she was a student—in the stands. Sterger was wearing a cowboy hat and bikini top: she says that while bartending that day, someone had spilled beer on her shirt. She happened to be wearing the bathing suit underneath and took advantage of it on a humid night. ABC play-by-play man Brent Musburger took notice. 'Fifteen hundred red-blooded Americans,' said Musburger on the broadcast, 'just decided to apply to Florida State.'
Sterger went viral, 2005-style. Her clout on message boards, MySpace, and an upstart site called Facebook exploded. Sports Illustrated gave her an online show, one of the first in sports media. In 2008, the Jets hired her as an in-game host: she had ambitions to become the next Erin Andrews or Suzy Kolber. Soon after the world found out about Favre's alleged messages on her phone, however, opportunities began to dry up. 'I was labeled a problem,' Sterger says. Her talk show on Versus, the sports channel that was rebranded NBC Sports Network in 2012, was canceled. She decided to cooperate with the NFL's investigation into the incident. Favre didn't, and the NFL fined him $50,000. He was making more than $11.5 million with the Minnesota Vikings that season.
"He's very valuable to them, even in retirement,' says Sterger. 'And that's something I said to [NFL commissioner] Roger Goodell when I was going through the investigation. I got to meet with him. I said, 'You know, no matter what I show you, you're not going to do anything.' He got defensive. 'Are you saying I can't do anything?' I'm like, 'I'm not saying you can't. I'm saying you won't. There's a difference.' I apologized to him. I'm like, 'I'm really sorry that I'm not as stupid as you were anticipating.'" (The NFL declined to comment.)
Sterger says she has turned down many documentary proposals before Fall of Favre director Rebecca Gitlitz–a two-time Emmy winner who directed Under Pressure, a 2023 Netflix docuseries on the U.S. Women's National Soccer Team—won her trust and delivered on her promise to treat her fairly. 'I was very surprised how much of my backstory was included in there,' says Sterger. 'I wasn't just a talking head. I didn't want to come off as a victim. Vulnerable, yes, but not a victim. The stuff Brett did to me, while awful, wasn't as bad as other people can experience. What needs to get talked about more is this uneven power dynamic.'
Sterger turned to stand-up comedy about a decade ago and plans on talking more openly about this highly publicized chapter in her life on stage. She has no resentment about Musburger's 2005 comments that altered the trajectory of her life, or anything else that unfolded. 'If you take away any of those experiences, I don't turn out the way that I am,' says Sterger. Therapy has helped her come out of the other side of intense public scrutiny and humiliation. She often gives talks to aspiring sports reporters about navigating potential minefields of the business. 'I like who I've become,' says Sterger. 'I like that the things that have happened to me can help other people. Because that's what it's about.'