Chris Christie Boasts Of Not Dumping Nachos On Cubs Heckler, Despite Documented Love Of Nachos

By Stephen Gossett in News on Aug 2, 2017 9:30PM

Chris Christie at Citi Field on July 18, a game at which the boo birds summarily hounded the New Jersey governor / Getty Images / Photo: Mike Stobe

The Great Nacho-Assisted Executive Scolding Saga that was New Jersey Governor Chris Christie's close-talk admonishment of a heckling Chicago Cubs fan on Sunday has spun back around into braggadocious. After Christie's initial salvo, we saw some doubled-down defensiveness, followed by a (jest-y) MMA challenge from the scoldee. On Day Four, Christie seemed to congratulate his restraint—while also vowing to keep attending baseball games—in a tale that (as we'll explore below) extends even further into history than we first realized.

"I didn't dump the nachos on him or anything, which was an option," Christie said in Trenton on Wednesday, according to the Associated Press. "No, I'm not swearing off baseball games in any way."

Christie, of course, was delicately cradling a Milwaukee-sized portion of nachos when he got in the face of a Cubs fan at Sunday's Brewers home game, against the Cubs. The fan, Brad Joseph, called out Christie's name, informed him he thought he sucked and called him a hypocrite, "because I thought it needed to be said," he told Wisconsin's WISN.

We turn to the tape:

In fairness to the governor, we can speak from experience that some Cubs fans do indeed tempt a food/beverage bath with their ballpark behavior. But at least as Joseph tells it, it sounded like a standard-issue razz.

But speaking of nachos and circling back, perhaps the most fascinating development is how this all ties into the broader Christie/snack narrative. As John Hendrickson, Deputy Editor of Esquire, noted, the governor's nacho handling feels very much of a pice with a 2014 New York Times profile, by Mark Leibovich.

Here's a closer peek at the text:

"The governor then sat back down to his nachos, which were dripping grease and piled prodigiously with three scoops of sour cream and guacamole over melted cheese. Diced tomatoes spilled onto the table. Christie, who has lost about 100 pounds since undergoing lap-band surgery last year, stopped drinking soda and rarely drinks alcohol, except for an occasional vodka “to take the edge off.” But he hasn’t relinquished some old delights. He surveyed the nachos and grabbed a large deck hewed together by coagulated Cheddar. “We don’t mess around,” he said, bringing the cluster to his lips. “I didn’t have breakfast today,” he added, as if by way of explanation."

Leibovich, for one, is convinced:

We'll be sure to follow Christie—and Leibovich—when the saga enters Day Five. Or given the governor's extended history of ballpark faux pas, maybe we'll a new Day One.