An Accomplished Classical Guitarist?

I'm currently finishing up my biennial torture, rewatching the best speculative fiction/alternate history series that has ever been on American television. It's a necessary... distraction from stuff. And the following exchange should sound more than a little bit like what has been in the news of late, down to the challenger being a governor who has recently made a specialty of putting his foot in his mouth up to the kneecaps:

RITCHIE	You enjoying the play?
BARTLET	I am. How about you?
RITCHIE	We just got here. We were at the Yankee game. We were, you know, hung up in traffic.
BARTLET	Yeah, I know. Listen, politics aside, and I don't want to make a big deal out of it, but you probably insulted the church, and you can head it off at the pass if you speak to the Cardinal tonight.
RITCHIE	Well, I didn't mean to insult anybody.
BARTLET	No.
RITCHIE	And it's a baseball game. It's how ordinary Americans...
BARTLET	Yeah.    No, I don't understand that. The center fielder for the Yankees is an accomplished classical guitarist. People who like baseball can't like books?
RITCHIE	Are you taking this personally?
BARTLET	No.    Something horrible happened about an hour ago. C.J. Cregg was getting threats so we put an agent on her. He's a good guy. He was on my detail for a while, and he was in Rosslyn. He walked in the middle of an armed robbery, and was shot and killed after detaining one of the suspects.
RITCHIE	Oh. Crime. Boy, I don't know.
BARTLET	We should have a great debate, Rob. We owe it to everyone. When I was running as a governor, I didn't know anything. I made them start Bartlet college in my dining room. Two hours every morning on foreign affairs and the military. You can do that.
RITCHIE	How many different ways you think you're gonna find to call me dumb?
BARTLET	I wasn't, Rob. But you've turned being unengaged into a Zen-like thing, and you shouldn't enjoy it so much is all, and if it appears at times as if I don't like you, that's the reason why.
RITCHIE	You're what my friends call a superior sumbitch. You're an academic elitist and a snob. You're, uh, Hollywood, you're weak, you're liberal, and you can't be trusted. And if it appears from time to time as if I don't like you, well, those are just a few of the many reasons why.
BARTLET	They're playing my song. [stands to return to the theatre]    In the future, if you're wondering, "Crime. Boy, I don't know" is when I decided to kick your ass.

And doesn't Ritchie's last line in this scene sound both an awful lot like what is spewing forth from the Heffalumps... and what passes for the thought process of a sixth-grade bully?