It was a far cry from the tuxedo-clad bloke on a star-studded glittery stage at Masse Berlin although the three-striped sporty footwear did strike a chord with the mammoth charity drive from the awards.
For Hansen, though, charity started at home. He didn't have to be at the Bay college that mid-afternoon. He could easily have been having some downtime at home or engaging in some sponsor-driven cushy number in the Big Smoke.
But the coach, who turns 57 on May 7, was in rural Hawke's Bay, albeit through the efforts of good mate and entrepreneur Terry Elmsly, of Napier, and the persistent nagging of Wairoa deputy mayor Denise Eaglesome-Karekare in her capacity as college academy manager.
Not anywhere near the elite secondary schools' first XVs in the country, the members of the Wairoa outfit, some wearing caps backwards, were all eyes and ears.
It was a surreal experience, no doubt, but also gave them a great glimpse of what elite coaching is about.
It wasn't simply a case of: "Hey, listen up, you fellahs."
No it was the way in which Hansen engaged with the teenagers that grabbed me most.
He first dirtied his hands with the ball, injecting himself into the equation to build a rapport at footy-field level not just between himself and the players but wittingly among the collective themselves.
Here's a snapshot of a pearler of a question from Hansen in a huddle: "So who makes the calls on the field?"
The frisky ball-chucking blokes locked eyes with each other momentarily before one of them quipped "him", throwing a glance at a perky "little general".
Replied Hansen: "So what are the rest of you guys doing?"
It was rhetorical retort that needed no interpretation.
The ensuing calm sense of enlightenment that seemed to spread through the huddle that rugby is a co-operative effort was reassuring.
A few minutes later he whisked them away "from the cold" to a white-board session for a dose of some elementary sketches that depicted pretty complex life skills that teenagers, I suspect, don't often comprehend during that phase of their lives.
It came in the form of two crudely fashioned triangles with letters on their corners.
The first had an "MS" at the apex, "SS" on the left acute angle and "S" on the right.
From the expanded acronyms, through some patient brainstorming, emerged the words "mind set", "skills set" and "structure".
"You can choose to be anything you want to be so it's the way you go about achieving that," he explained.
The next triangle depicted "P", "L" and "E", evolving to "performance", "learning" and "enjoyment".
But not before one sprightly fellow thought "p" stood for "partying".
"Ah, we can see where his mind set is, can't we?" said Hansen to an appreciative audience.
Translated in park patois, the three letters define the ABs' nurturing environment.
"Too much focus on that [pointing to 'enjoyment' on the whiteboard] becomes loose so there's a risk of not winning.
"If we focus too much on that ['learning'] we become bored," he explained as I appreciated how he had massaged the "p for partying" answer to break the boredom although humour may still not be his forte.
He impressed on the boys, at the cusp of manhood, the significance of making mistakes in the ABs setting - the first one is okay.
Make it again and "it's a decision" but keep making "bad decisions" and it becomes "all about yourself".
You see, for me, the genius isn't specific to Dan Carter's ability to kick or dictate play from a hiatus or, for that matter, McCaw's ability to lead.
It's the nous of a coach to bring out the best in his players through people management.
It can't be easy to drop players when they lose form, put on weight or keep making the same "mistakes" on or off the field.
The Waiora first XV captain, Morgan Bestford, and his troops performed a rousing haka, Kia Mataara (Being Vigilant), as a sign of appreciation and respect.
So class is out? I doubt it ever is in the game of life.
It's the sort of lesson not even the glitzy Laureus can deliver.
