Betting advice for JW3368

My fan JW3368 asks whether she should put Casino Drive underneath me in the Belmont exacta. No, toss him out, because he's more raw than chopped meat. I recommend a $40 Big Brown/Denis of Cork cold exacta. He'll plod on to get up for second, 10 lengths behind, as the racing universe worships me. Send it in, and thanks for the love.

Foot fault

This hoof thing has been annoying, but it didn’t freak me out when they discovered it Friday. Even the great ones have weak spots. Okay, I have brittle feet. None of the horses chasing me can run. Whose problem is worse?

My agent, Scott Boras, is working on cross-marketing schemes to cash in on the hoof deal. He’s greedy and no money-making opportunity ever gets past him. The week after the Belmont, I’m shooting an “I’m Gellin’ ” commercial, and then I’m promoting a new line of horseshoe-shaped running shoes for Nike. The world is my feedbag, and I’m hungry for more.

The big horse is back

Big Brown here. I’m back on the track and back on the blog, and I’ll tell you why I cut off this writer for a week. He was trying to hustle me for a book deal, bugging me constantly. Then my hoof thing came up Friday, so I got a little edgy and bummed out.

Before that, my mother, Mien, called from Kentucky and said all the mares down in Lexington were gossiping about how obnoxious I’d become. She was so upset and so embarrassed. So I thought it over and decided “No press.’’ It’s lonely at the top, and once you’re up there, all the media wants to do is chop you down. You’re just a commodity. I’m an affectionate, easygoing horse, but even I can take just so much.

Still, who knows how much longer I’ll be in the spotlight. How many more times will I race? Stud duty at Three Chimneys is my future, and I know I won’t be running as a 4-year-old. I hope I can make it back to Saratoga for the Travers and then go to the Breeders’ Cup, but you never can tell. I can hear you thinking, not only is this horse a killer runner, but he’s smart, too. As my boss Michael Iavarone said, “Big Brown is all class and takes care of himself on the track. He not only outruns the other horses, he out-thinks them, too.”

I’m going to miss reading quotes like that, so while I’m still racing I’m going to keep talking, too. The hoof’s feeling fine, so bring on the Belmont.

Four-legged rock star

Well, I’m settled in at Belmont Park after another media madness welcome on Monday, five days after the same routine when I showed up at Pimlico. Don’t get me wrong, I love the attention, but do you think 200 horses would wait in the rain to see a human being walk out of a van?

Saturday was an all-time high for me, getting syndicated in a record stud deal before blowing away those clowns in the Preakness. I don’t like to be obnoxious, but I could have given them a 100-yard head start and lapped them. I can’t believe all the morons who bet on them to beat me. What a dopey species.

I’ll be Horse of the World for the next few weeks, so I have to use my clout. I’m going to pick the mares I’ll be bred to at Three Chimneys, and I’ll use a three-tiered screening process. First, my wonderful Irish mother, exercise rider Michelle Nevin, will check them out for me. Snooty bluebloods need not apply. It’s the personality, not the pedigree, that matters to me. Then I’ll check our compatibility profiles on EquineHarmony.com. Breeding and looks aren’t everything, you know. The ones who vet out will go on my version of “The Dating Game.’’ I’m negotiating with HRTV and TVG for the television rights.

Ready to get it on

BALTIMORE -- Sorry for not blogging Thursday, but it's time to get my game face on and put on the war paint. I'm after the 12th Triple Crown, and I have to minimize the distractions. I've got a lot of stuff on my mind, such as my stud deal falling through, but I expect my genes will be in demand. It's just a question of where I end up as a stallion, not when.

I know I won't be running as a 4-year-old, so there's no sense holding anything back. My trainer is concerned about having to run me back on two weeks' rest for the first time, but I'm not. Did you look at the past performances of the dirty dozen that are taking me on Saturday in the Preakness? If I were a betting colt, I'd play Icabad Crane underneath me in a cold exacta.

Thursday was a nice morning: good gallop, sunny weather. Then, just like at Churchill Downs the day of the Derby, hundreds of humans were gawking at me as I got a bath. I imagine some of the writers were thinking up interesting questions such as "Uh, what kind of soap do you use on him?" and "Does Big Brown always get a sponge bath, or does he sometimes take a shower?" Oh, well, next year I'll be at a beautiful farm, passing on my rare and royal DNA, while these clowns are watching the soap bubbles run off another 3-year-old. If I were them, I'd consider a career change.

Video: Nick Zito on dirt vs. artificial tracks

Horse trainer Nick Zito holds court with reporters to discuss his views on dirt vs. artificial tracks, this year's hot-button issue in horse racing.

Moving day

Big Brown here. Well, I've enjoyed the relative peace and quiet here at Churchill Downs during the last 11 days since the Derby, but now it's time to head for the Preakness. My plane leaves today for Baltimore, and I'll be at Pimlico, they tell me, by 7 o'clock Wednesday night. I'll be flying with hopeless longshots Tres Borrachos and Racecar Rhapsody, who should stay in Louisville to run in a non-winners-of-1 allowance. I assume I'll be flying first-class and they'll be in the cargo hold, but you never can tell.

I'm not looking forward to being mobbed again by media creeps. Even my collaborator, Mr. Ed, has been getting on my nerves lately, asking dumb questions. Will you predict that you'll win the Triple Crown? Do you think you'll race as a 4-year-old? You ought to see them bug my trainer, Mr. Rick, crowding around him and shoving microphones in his face as if he's Moses who just came down from the mountain with the 10 Commandments. It's just a horse race, you clowns. Get a little perspective on the universe.

I guess it's good I'm feeling a little aggravated and feisty, because it's time to put on my game face. I'll be all business from here on in.

Big Brown: A hot property

My new agent, Scott Boras, and I are considering marketing outlets besides UPS. Chocolate is a natural, and we’re negotiating with a bunch of candy companies. One in Geneva offered me a Swiss bank account, which would help with my tax situation. Cocoa would be a perfect fit for me, too. So would a tie-in with an old Louisville favorite, the “Hot Brown,” an open-faced turkey sandwich with gravy. Another possibility is the Hollywood Brown Derby, the replica of the old Hollywood landmark restaurant at Disney MGM Studios in Florida.

My “friend” Curlin, aka Mr. Horse of the Year, is jealous of my Derby win, and he’s getting on my nerves. Last night on his way past my barn, he said, “Here’s something with plenty of commercial potential for Big Brown: Roto Rooter.”

Wise guy. Boras said that wasn’t such a bad idea, but I overruled him. I’ve got class, and it’s not about the money. Well, not completely.

Big Brown wants his fair share

Media creeps, thanks for coming to my news conference. My new agent, Scott Boras, has encouraged me to look out for No. 1, which I am, being an undefeated Derby winner and all. So here’s my list of demands:

1. I have a white birthmark above my left foreleg, and I want to use that space for advertising, all proceeds of which go directly to me. In the Preakness I’ll wear a UPS patch on it, and I want the same payoff that my jockey, Kent Desormeaux, gets for wearing it on his pants.

2. At stud, I want final approval of the mares that will have my kids. Their breeding and conformation is important, but personality counts, too. Any blueblood that acts like a snotty, spoiled brat at our introductory lunches will be off my list. No obnoxious princesses need apply. You can find my compatibility profile on EquineHarmony.com.

3. My owners are big-time money men with Wall Street connections. So how about hooking me up with investment opportunities? Retroactively, starting with my first race, I demand 10 percent of my earnings, which comes to $210,000 or so. I want some of it invested aggressively, and the rest put into high-yield, long-term municipal bonds. I need security for old age. When I get to Pimlico Wednesday afternoon, come over to the barn and let’s talk.

And nobody should be surprised by what I’m saying. When Kent said I was an intelligent horse, he wasn’t kidding.

It's all about the money

I see my owners and jockey just made a marketing deal with UPS. Well, good for them, but can I ask one question: Uh, did you forget someone? Like me, the one making all this possible? My new slogan: What can you do for Brown?

I’ve made $2.1 million for my owners, and the jockey and trainer got 10 percent. Can you estimate how much I’ve gotten out of that? Answer: zero. I’m told that the Derby win makes me worth $30 million as a stallion, but my life hasn’t changed. I’m still eating the same boring hay and oats I got before anybody heard of Big Brown.

Am I wrong to want to cash in on myself? I earn millions by running like a demon, and I haven’t got a cent to my name. I hear my barn at Pimlico needs serious upgrading, and I’d like to pay for it myself. It’s my money and I need it now!

My owners have hooked up with UPS, so I’m going to hook up with Scott Boras, that greedy baseball agent. If that Prince of Weasels could get that choker A-Rod $25million a year, what could he get for me? When the pressure's on, I hit a home run, not a pop-up like that glorified loser. Boras says he can get me appearance money at Pimlico, and if they won’t pay, to threaten a work stoppage. Dumb animal, huh? Don’t push me.

(Tomorrow: Big Brown and his agent issue a list of demands.)

Big Brown: Feeling his oats

To pass the time yesterday at rainy Churchill Downs, I looked over the past performances of my Preakness “challengers.” Their connections must be kidding. Just declare the race a walkover for me and let these jokers give pony rides.

Stevil and Tres Borrachos are eligible for a non-winners-of-1 allowance, so they throw them in against me? Get out of my way, little fellows. The only one who looks like a comer is the gray horse, Harlem Rocker, who’s 3-for-3 and won the Withers for Todd Pletcher. I saw him run at Gulfstream, and he’s got enough speed to warm me up for a mile or so. After that, unless somebody slips some undercooked crabcakes into my feed bucket the day before the race, I’ll be long gone.

This writer is starting to ask dumb questions, such as what are my favorite sports teams. All right, in baseball, the Phillies, of course, and in football, the Colts and the Browns.

(Tomorrow: Big Brown contemplates his financial future.)

Big Brown feuds with Curlin

I saw the video of Curlin strutting into Churchill Downs’ paddock on a red carpet Saturday, a few hours before I became racing’s new cult hero. Mr. King of the World, there’s a new sheriff in town, and the name is Big Brown.

Unlike Curlin, I had no problem becoming the first horse since 1915 to win the Derby in my fourth lifetime start. That was too much to ask of the magnificent chestnut, who was third in the Derby last year and so far back you had trouble finding him. He didn’t have to come from post 20, either, and he wasn’t hung out wide for a mile like I was. Hey, I give him props for winning the Preakness and the Breeders’ Cup Classic, but I love reminding Mr. Horse of the Year that he lost the Belmont to a girl. When he goes to stud, you think the mares won’t be whispering about that?

So I called Curlin on his cell Saturday night and offered to swap my Derby DVD for his. He whinnied, called me a young punk and hung up, but I got back at him big time. His barn at Churchill isn’t far from mine, so I got all my stablemates to chant “Rags to Riches, Rags to Riches” just before Curlin’s bedtime.

OK, so I’m getting a little full of myself, but when you’re an undefeated Derby winner, you’ve got a license to strut, babe.

(Tomorrow: Big Brown runs down the Preakness field.)

Big Brown speaks

(Kentucky Derby winner Big Brown has agreed to blog for newsday.com during the Triple Crown series. After tense negotiations in stall 12, Barn 22 on the Churchill Downs backstretch, the charismatic colt accepted Newsday’s offer of 40 peppermints a week to share his thoughts with Ed McNamara.)

I hope I can trust this writer, because he seems to be a bit odd. He told me he has made bets at 75 tracks on four continents, as if I’m supposed to be impressed. That’s a real lifetime achievement, Eddie boy, something to carve on your tombstone. I reminded him of what W.C. Fields said: “Horse sense is what keeps a horse from betting on people.”

Speaking of people, at 8 o’clock Saturday morning, 10 hours before the biggest race of my life, about 200 of them stood there gawking while my groom gave me a bath. “Ooooh, look at the soap bubbles getting rinsed off the handsome brown horse.” Kind of freaky, and no, I wasn’t real comfortable with it. Do you think 100 horses would stand around and watch a human being take a bath? Sometimes I think the wrong species is running this world.

(Tomorrow: Big Brown starts a friendly feud with 2007 Horse of the Year Curlin.)

The longest day

LOUISVILLE, Ky. -- My apologies for not blogging the past two days from Derby City, but my old laptop has been very persnickety about getting to the Web. Technology can be an evil demon.

We're almost up to the eighth race, meaning two from the Derby, but there will be a wait of more than two hours before the big one. There's no simulcasting here today, so boredom becomes a tyrant and many turn to drink. As a devoted reporter, only coffee will pass through my lips until all business is done.

Good news for me: Despite high winds and the possibility of tornados (none materialized), none of the discarded mattresses near my motel moved Friday night, when 2 to 3 inches of rain fell in the Louisville metropolitan area. Churchill Downs' main track dries so well that the track was upgraded from sloppy yesterday to fast by the second race.