Tom Hanks opens tonight in “Lucky Guy,” the juicy story of the late Post reporter Mike McAlary and NYC life in the ’80s. So why’s a hot-shot film actor risking Broadway?

“Hell, I got the money. What’s precious is your time. But I’m an actor. Never been anything else. TV’s for writers, movies for directors, Broadway is for actors.

“You fantasize. It’s the excitement. The ritual gearing up for the show, getting the hang of it. Just walking out you can sense the atmosphere. Can see their shoulders. The butt’s either deep into that seat or not. If they’re busy with a cough, it’s a bad sign.

“Am I nervous? God, yes. Nothing but nerves. The heart starts beating. You get more wired, but you can’t allow yourself fear. That’s a disaster scenario. Like, if your brain takes an unfortunate left turn and it’s . . . what’s that line??? Of course, it’ll happen you forget. You have to trust. Somebody’ll give you a nod or throw you a cue. Same as a shortstop Opening Day with the ball coming toward him. It’s part of the jou-jou.

“I never read McAlary. I had no place here until after his heyday, so I wasn’t hip to New York-centric stories. Mine was a natural disregard for tabloids. Their constant outrage about something could ruin your whole day. But Nora Ephron, who wrote this, had affection for them. She was fascinated they could create then own a story for 24 hours. That people looked forward to a subway ride because the subway meant The Post.

“Working onstage is very physical. The rehearsal process, not just memorizing, the task of learning the play is 10 hours a day. Moving your body into place requires stamina. In performance, you learn to sleep late, decompress, exercise, eat lightly and early. Helen Hunt told me, ‘You must have dinner at 5:15.’ 5:15?!

“Early in life I did three seasons of rep in Cleveland. It was 60 performances of ‘[The Two] Gentlemen of Verona.’ But I was 25 then. I’m not now. And I knew right away I wasn’t going to Minneapolis or Chicago. I knew I had to come to New York.”

Remembering his first movie audition — for director Ron Howard, with whom, many awards later, he made “Apollo 13” — Hanks says:

“I’d already done some TV, so he called with, ‘You got the job.’ I said, ‘Mr. Howard, please say that again.’ He added, ‘But you have to screentest with Daryl Hannah for her mermaid role.’ Figuring this gorgeous lady would get all the excitement, and I’d be, ‘Who’s that guy with her?’ I said, ‘If I do this screen-test job, any way I can lose your movie job?’ And he said, ‘No, it’s yours.’ ”

P.S. The Post’s longtime beloved know-it-all Myron Rushetzky reminds me it’s Opening Day for the Yankees and Mets, and McAlary started as a baseball writer.

NBC’s “Today” show alum Tom Brokaw is advising and counseling Matt Lauer and Ann Curry. Next up, maybe Leno and Fallon . . . Diane von Furstenberg busted her shoulder skiing. Husband Barry Diller is meanwhile sunning with the Clintons in Punta Cana, Oscar de la Renta’s Dominican getaway . . . Now that it’s sputtering — and I’d not have mentioned it earlier — “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” might be B’way’s junkiest offering since “Moose Murders.”

THE “All The News That’s Fit To Print” newspaper did Sunday’s frontpage on what-the-Hillary’s Mrs. Clinton doing and how seems like, looks like, smells like she’s gearing up for The Big One. Wowee! Whoopee! HooHah! YooHoo! Weeks ago I did that — not with hints but facts. So, before wrapping your herring in that paper, see “All The News That’s Fit To Print” — a month late!

ATTENTION Barbara Walters watchers. Put a sock in it. As Barbara’s friend, I know what I know. Should she exit TV, it’s her decision. Her timing. Her discretion. Her announcement. No ABC pressure. They told her that. They told me that. Last week’s squib was no official statement. The network’s been great. They could’ve been one of her three husbands, that’s how much they love her.

RICHARD GRIFFITHS. Balloon-sized English actor, known as Harry Potter’s nasty Uncle Vernon and for “The History Boys” professorial role, just left us. In ’08, backstage at the Broadhurst, in a repeat of the play “Equus,” he flashed me his ring: “I won a Tony in ’06 for ‘History Boys’ then had this gold ring made in its exact likeness. I had it done specially to match the award. For as much as the damn thing cost me, I could’ve produced my own play.”

AND we lost one of TV’s first great black journalists. Bob Teague. Newspaperman, NBC anchor, and always a prince. Back when Andrew Stein thought he might become mayor, Bob, as David Dinkins at the Inner Circle roast, sang lines like: “David’s good at sports. Looks so good in tennis shorts.”

AMONGST our senior senators this conversation: “Is my fly open?” . . . “No.” . . . “Well, it should be. I’m peeing.”

PAY attention. A fashionista, with crates of clothes, decided to unload 88 pieces. One was a 20-year-old evening purse. Never worn. She’d bought it at a Chanel sample sale for $100. The consignment lady resold it. Price paid? $2,000.

Only in New York, kids, only in New York.