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.
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