Edwards rules the day after

Amazing what some people will do for kids.

How else to explain the poke’s win?

A week ago, he was on his own, a yawning 19th at Daytona, and coming here, where NASCAR is an afterthought, raise your hand if you had even heard of Carl Edwards?

But sometime in the last six days, and six days in NASCAR terms is a life sentence, Mattel Children’s Hospital at UCLA is mentioned.

Edwards’ ears perk up, and as big as they are, it’s really obvious when he is listening.

He wants to know all about the kids on the cancer ward, mentions something about a donation, but anybody who can buy their own airplane can write out a check.

How about doing something special?

“Go win the race and make the kids’ day,” he’s told, like that’s gonna happen, “and give the trophy to the kids.”

Dr. Kathleen Sakamoto, who lives her life looking for improvements on the cancer ward, notices the mention of the trophy on Page 2 but never e-mails. And she always e-mails. “After reading your column,” she writes now, “it seemed unlikely he’d win.”

The same thing is mentioned to Edwards, his crew chief, his trainer, his mother, and I don’t think I missed anyone.

I go to the Billy Joel concert in Anaheim, he’s singing “Keeping the Faith,” and so I call Edwards and just hold the phone up so maybe it might inspire him.

No one says anything to the kids at Mattel, though, because they’re already dealing with disappointment, and don’t need much more.

The race starts and Jimmie Johnson and Jeff Gordon take off and leave everyone else behind. It rains, the race is stopped for a day, and when it resumes, Johnson and Gordon are in control.

But then something very odd happens. Edwards begins dominating the race, a little after noon crossing the finish line in Fontana before anyone else to win the Auto Club 500.

He gets out of car No. 99 and does a back flip.

At the same time they are wheeling out the Richter Trophy, a handsome combination surfboard and race car named in honor of former Los Angeles Ram and auto racing official Les Richter. And it’s huge.

Before the champagne is popped and sprayed everywhere, Edwards calls for Gillian Zucker, president of the speedway, and tells her, “We’ve got to get this trophy to Mattel’s.”

Now that’s Carl Edwards, and maybe some people never heard of him before this week, but to use an expression he likes to use a lot, “How cool is that?”

Later he asks for a favor. He’d like Matt Benigno, a young man with his own medical issues and Edwards’ guest at the track all weekend, to accompany the trophy to the hospital when it’s given to the kids.

“And when we return to race this summer, I’ll go to the hospital, see the kids and sign it for them,” he says.

That’s as close as anyone will come to ever giving a reason to look forward to another NASCAR race.

IT’S A long day, and he spends it entirely in the fast lane.

He wins, changes his baseball cap 29 times so photographers can take care of every sponsor, and then has 18 minutes to jog to his motor home before racing again.

He changes fire-retardant suits. He has a hole in his sock, but no time to change it. He eats five bites of pasta while using his laptop to make a flight plan for later in the day, and then with the national anthem being played on the track, he sprints about 400 yards to the start of the 300-mile Nationwide race.

He finishes fifth, and by day’s end, he has driven more than 600 miles at nearly 200 mph, then climbs into his airplane as pilot and flies at 400 mph home to Missouri.

Tough to slow this guy down for a word or two.

“It’s going to be great when I get home,” he says, “just sitting in my own house -- the house I’ve lived in all my life -- and feeling content after beating the best drivers in the world.”

As much as a win means on the NASCAR trail, then why surrender the hardware, some athletes dedicating entire rooms in their homes to such honors?

“I’m hoping the kids will enjoy it, and that would mean a whole lot more to me,” he says, while telling Page 2, “You’ve got to stop being so negative,” like he could have won this week without a little additional motivation.

“You might have to come to Las Vegas this week and write another column,” he says, and he thinks Page 2 is too negative, while he’s got no problem suggesting torture.

GIVEN THE chance to put on a headset and listen to Edwards, his spotter and crew chief negotiate 500 miles at top speed is almost interesting.

They do an amazing job of communicating with each other, although Bob Osbourne, crew chief, still doesn’t seem to know the name of his own driver. Most folks call him Carl, but Bob kept referring to him as Bud.

“Be smart here, Bud,” or “Bud, just stay patient.”

It gets even more complicated. Edwards’ mother calls him Michael, his middle name, and she’s always there -- beside him for the invocation and in the pit while the race is on.

“Thanks, Mom, for coming,” he says over the radio as he begins the race, then throwing out compliments to his pit crew and the folks who gave him such a fast car.

He’s winning by more than five seconds, but after a pit stop and only 25 laps remaining, he falls to third behind Johnson and Gordon. If he’s ticked, he never says so.

At 200 mph, never once does his voice sound any different than if he’s standing right here. He puts away Gordon, runs down Johnson and cruises to the finish line.

“There’s your checkered flag, baby,” yells his crew chief, so excited now he doesn’t know what to call his driver.

And then his crew chief begins the satisfying walk up the track to Victory Lane to join his driver, while adding, “It’s a nice way to end this week’s story.”

How cool is that?

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T.J. Simers can be reached at t.j.simers@latimes.com. To read previous columns by Simers, go to latimes.com/simers.