There is the opportunity, and there is delivering on it. And there was the difference.
In many ways, what Lewis showed against Webb proved he was perfect for Williams. When you cut away the hype of the win, what was left was a man willing and game, but hardly a boxer in some classical sense. In other words, for someone with such a physical advantage like Williams, the only thing easier than winning the fight was selling it. Lewis was somehow built into some genuine threat following his win over Webb. At least the public thought so.
Williams believed boxing made him play better football. It sharpened him.
"The last couple of years, I have played my best rugby - that's due to the fact that I have done boxing," he said.
Once again, we see how Williams, when he commits, puts himself wholly into it. The moment he signed for the fight, he started training twice a day in the gym, doing nothing but boxing training. He trained six days a week, sparring on alternate days against the likes of rising Australian prospect David Aloua and the New Zealand kick-boxing champion, Russian-born Alexey Ignashov. He did not go near a football or a barbell.
Williams went six rounds against Lewis and won every round. Lewis had a strong chin and not enough of anything else - he lacked the big weapon and required fitness to put Sonny under any great stress.
After the fight, Sonny spoke about becoming a professional fighter.
"A lot of people didn't want to give this fight credibility," he told AAP.
"I think I really showed that I respect the sport and it was a good fight. Hopefully I gave the crowd what they wanted."
Certainly it earned plenty of money.
While his previous two fights were on Anthony Mundine undercards, broadcast on pay-per-view around Australia, his return across the Tasman opened the New Zealand pay-per-view market. New Zealand fans delivered more dollars than the Australian market.
Certainly his trainer, Tony Mundine, wanted him to consider retiring from football to concentrate on boxing full-time. "I said to him in 12 months' time he could be the second [Muhammad] Ali. He could be anything," Mundine told AAP after the fight.
"I saw him about 12 months ago. I really thought he moved like Ali. He needs more fights...if he keeps on boxing seriously, he will be the second Ali."
Old Tony was identifying Williams' natural potential and it is possible to say that few, if anybody, possessed more. But the next Ali?
Perhaps most impressive of all, Williams had no idea what he was doing and yet he was still delivering. His combinations were all wrong, for instance.
He would throw a straight right hand followed by a left hook. It was backwards. The straight right is a long punch, thrown from distance. The hook is a short punch, delivered close. As anybody knows, if the right hand lands then his opponent can't possibly still be there for the left hook. Turn them around, though, and it is music.
While comparisons to Ali looked a little ambitious, with a little imagination, there was enough to see what had Tony Mundine excited.
Two days after the fight, Williams reported for training with the Crusaders and once again his commitment was whole. Straight away, the Crusaders ordered him to strip 5kg from the 108kg frame he carried into the ring.
As everybody else was wondering whether he could make it as a professional fighter in the wake of Tony Mundine's comments, he declared he was not going to let boxing interfere with his World Cup dream.
"I can have another fight if I wish during the season - it's in my contract - but if I feel it's going to jeopardise my playing ability in any way, I won't do it, because rugby is first right now," he told the Sydney Morning Herald.
"But if it doesn't, if it feels like it would give me that kick which I feel right now - I feel mentally strong and I could play 80 minutes easy of footy after that - then I'll do it for sure. It is back to rugby now. I'll have to train hard and change focus but that's all right. I don't like to be idle, I just like to work hard and I can't wait to get stuck into it."
Shortly before heading to England for the Sharks game [in March], Williams announced he would fight again in June. It was an extraordinary commitment. The Crusaders had a bye the week before the fight, giving him seven days to switch from rugby player to boxer, but would play the Blues just five days after.
The Super Rugby finals would start just a fortnight later and last three weeks, with the All Blacks then set to start their final preparations for the World Cup, with a Bledisloe Cup series against the Wallabies to start a fortnight after that.
When Williams finally announced his opponent for the June 5 fight, all concerns about his welfare and how he would get through such a hectic time and remain in one piece were quickly allayed.
Alipate Liava'a was a 43-year-old gospel singer who stood 21cm shorter than Williams but, in more positive news, enjoyed a significant weight advantage over him. Everybody who saw him immediately thought the same thing: he would make a wonderful Buddha.
"He's a tall guy and, what, I'm too short?" Liava'a said when queried about their height difference.
He appeared offended. It was a terrible mismatch. Liava'a looked like you could pop him with a sharp elbow. Sonny's talk about respecting the sport appeared little more than tokenism when anything more than a casual look was thrown over Liava'a. His record was 4-7 and Williams seemed to be catching him at the right time, on the end of a seven-fight losing streak.
It got worse the week of the fight when it was revealed Liava'a was under investigation for claiming sickness benefits. He had tennis elbow and was unable to work. Some wondered how he could be well enough to fight if not well enough to work.
"It's very bad but it's good enough to hit somebody," Liava'a explained to a New Zealand TV reporter, clearing that up. "It's not 100 per cent but don't tell Sonny Bill."
The happiest man of all was All Blacks coach Graham Henry. There was minimal fear Williams would get hurt and without such fights, Williams would not be preparing for a World Cup with the All Blacks.
"He wouldn't be in New Zealand unless he could box," Henry said. He was being queried about the fight, and why the NZRU was so willing to let Williams get in the ring. "He can play rugby for bugger-all and boxing makes up for the contract."
Now you see how it all begins to make sense. While Williams was donating $100,000 to the earthquake fund, and admirably so, he was earning about $200,000 each time he stepped into the ring, according to those in the industry. His contract allowed him up to three fights a year and the soft fights subsidised his rugby wage. Everyone won except, perhaps, the sport of boxing.
None of the giggling about Liava'a mattered anyway. Nobody was buying it to see a real fight. They were buying to gaze on Sonny. Of more concern when the fight was over, certainly more than Sonny winning in six without losing a round and Liava'a going home to ice his elbow, was how Sonny was unable to stop him earlier. It had some questioning whether the talent matched the hype. Nobody wondered out loud how Ali might do against Liava'a.
Edited extract from Sonny Ball, the legend of Sonny Bill Williams, by Paul Kent. Macmillan, RRP $39.99, in book shops now.
