Gather round, dear readers, for the tale of the college admission letter that could! I’m not talking about your college admission letters — those fragile pieces of paper that you likely discarded once you made your choice, either out of practicality or the desire to forget the rejection from your “reach school.” No, I’m talking about the mythical unicorn of acceptance letters: Pete Hegseth’s 20-plus-year-old golden ticket from West Point.
Yes, that Pete Hegseth — the one battling for confirmation as secretary of defense, who just narrowly dodged the political guillotine thanks to his hoarding tendencies. Imagine the drama! ProPublica, our favorite bastion of investigative self-importance, thought it had uncovered a scandal of such magnitude that it might shake Washington to its very core: “Hegseth Lied About West Point Admission!”
Their smoking gun? West Point initially said it had “no record” of his application or acceptance. Scandal! Outrage! Aha! Except… Hegseth casually pulled out the letter like a magician revealing your signed playing card at the end of a Vegas act. Turns out, yes, he was accepted to West Point. West Point sheepishly admitted its mistake, ProPublica quietly folded its cards, and the American public shrugged and went back to ignoring the cable news wars.
The Media Circus That Wasn’t
Let’s pause and appreciate the absurdity here. Hegseth, a man who likely has his sock drawer arranged by military precision, still had his West Point acceptance letter stashed away like a family heirloom. And thank goodness for it! Without that relic, ProPublica might’ve destroyed his nomination faster than you can say “media malpractice.”
In fact, this story tells us two things:
High achievers have truly bizarre filing systems.
I mean, who else keeps documents from their teenage years? The rest of us would be hard-pressed to find last year’s tax return, let alone proof that we were once deemed smart enough for the Ivy League or, in this case, West Point. It brings to mind Brett Kavanaugh producing his high school calendars during his confirmation hearing — the most hilariously specific alibi in modern political history. Apparently, the lesson here is that if you aspire to high office, you should start hoarding everything, from parking tickets to receipts for your middle school book fair.
The media’s willingness to pounce is downright terrifying.
ProPublica was so sure it had caught Hegseth in a lie that it basically demanded he confess before the article even went live. Imagine the egg on their faces if they had run with the story. Instead of sinking Hegseth, they’d be neck-deep in a libel lawsuit, with that very same acceptance letter as Exhibit A.
This wasn’t just sloppy journalism — it was a near-catastrophe that could’ve ruined a man’s career. And for what? Because West Point’s administrative office misplaced a file? Because ProPublica got a little too excited about catching a political scalp?
A Fake Scandal That Should Have Scared Us All
I’m not even a diehard defender of Hegseth’s nomination, but the way this unfolded should chill everyone, regardless of political leanings. We came within inches of seeing a man’s career torched over a mistake that had nothing to do with him. Had Hegseth been less meticulous, less nostalgic — heck, less of a pack rat — ProPublica’s hit piece would’ve gone live, and the damage would’ve been irreversible.
And let’s be real: If you’re relying on a decades-old letter to prove your integrity, the burden of proof has already shifted in a way that shouldn’t sit well with anyone. This is why some GOP lawmakers are now calling for an investigation into why West Point denied Hegseth’s admission — twice. Was it an honest mistake? Or is there something fishier going on?
The Moral of the Story: Keep Everything
In the end, this debacle has done more to boost Hegseth’s confirmation chances than his supporters ever could have hoped. If ProPublica’s goal was to sink him, it backfired spectacularly. And if there’s one lesson to be learned, it’s this: Keep everything. Every acceptance letter, every calendar, every post-it note. You never know when the media might decide to comb through your past and declare war on your reputation.
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