AN EMOTIONAL Garry Lyon has paid a heartfelt tribute to his late mate Danny Frawley, who was killed in a car crash on Monday.

VALE DANNY Football world sheds tears for loss of Saints' great

On radio station SEN on Friday morning, Melbourne great Lyon read a eulogy he'd prepared about the popular football and media personality after what he described as "a horrific three or four days".

Lyon has just returned to his media commitments on SEN and Fox Footy after stepping back to grieve the loss of Frawley.

Here is the full transcript of Lyon's tribute.

Danny Frawley walked through life with a perpetual smile and a nose for mischief. They were amongst his most endearing qualities that saw him as a friend to anyone he came into contact with. 

He had fun written all over him. Laughter was the fuel that drove him and he was relentless in his pursuit of it, and he didn’t discriminate in terms of where the laughs would come from – everyone was fair game; none more so than himself.

I knew him as an opponent first but not long after as a work colleague at the AFL and then even more quickly as a friend; and, enduringly, as a source of unbending support and loyalty, which I cherished each and every day.

Danny Frawley, Garry Lyon and former Magpie skipper Gavin Brown in 1994. Picture: Getty Images

Which is not to say we lived in each other's pockets. We worked together through the footy seasons, the promotions and development area of the AFL, and more recently through various media organisations for the best part of 30 years. 

As I sit here today and I try and make sense of the tragic circumstances of the 9th day of September that saw him taken away from us so swiftly and brutally, I'm trying desperately to define my relationship with him so that the sense of grief and loss can have some perspective to understand why it hurts so much. And I arrived at the conclusion that it's because he was just so relatable to me.

'A LOSS THAT CAN'T BE FATHOMED' Saints' poignant tribute to club great

As I said last night (on Fox Footy), there's few people in the world that I love as much as my brother. I don't see (my brother) every day, I can often go weeks at a time without seeing each other, but when we do get together we pick right up from wherever we left off last. He makes me laugh. We share common interests. He's got a depth in him which I've enjoyed witnessing as he got older. He loves his family unconditionally and his loyalty to me and support is humbling. It's a relationship that has never needed work.

On reflection, that's what it was like with Spud. Not to the same depth – family’s family but the sentiment was the same. Being in his company was just so comfortable.

I loved his sense of humour right from day one. I took great delight in being able to wind him up and let him loose in any number of circumstances. He took little convincing – in fact, he took none.

During our AFL days we did clinics and promotions Monday to Thursday and then we went into the office on Friday, which happened to coincide with the weekly press conferences of coaches for the weekend's game of the round. They were held next to our office and there was a door which connected our room to theirs.

Now, Spud's eyes lit up when he could hear anyone from Mick Malthouse and Denis Pagan, or Leigh Matthews and David Parkin, earnestly taking questions from the assembled media. He'd quietly open the door and start making strange noises and lob scrunched-up balls of paper over the sponsor sign onto the coaches' table during the conference.

It was childish, schoolboy behaviour but with Gavin Brown and myself giggling uncontrollably, it was all the encouragement he needed. After a few weeks, the media pack were awake to his antics and their muffled laughter drove him on. I think it took a sharp rebuke from Mick or Denis to finally pull him up.

And he was still at it 20 years later in the Triple M commentary box. 'The Saturday Rub' (show) with JB (James Brayshaw) and Damian (Barrett) and myself and Spud were the most enjoyable times I've had in media. We'd call games of footy until the legs of quaddy were on and then I'd be left one-out in the special comments booth as he waved his form guide over his head like a maniac trying to get onto the subject of his latest bit of mail. 

He was never happier than when he discovered something throughout the week that could potentially embarrass us. He'd covet that information like the nuclear codes and try and recruit one of us as his co-conspirator. Barrett was his favourite target, never more excited than if he had material that in his own mind would expose him as getting ahead of his station in life.

Inevitably, though, the joke would always seem to backfire and he would be the one in the crosshairs. Whether it be the time we discovered that he'd sent an email complaining that his make-up wasn't as dark as his colleagues, or the time we found out he'd undergone significant dental work, or the fact that Jim used to introduce him as a member of St Kilda's Team of the Century, which he happily responded to, only for us to discover that he actually wasn't in the team – he was the target of our relentless ribbing.

His response was consistent – deny, deny, deny until it became obvious he wasn't going to get away with it, and then he'd resort to violence. JB or Damo were his targets.

Any feature in the paper was manna from heaven for him. When I returned to Melbourne to help out for a short time was arguably his greatest triumph. He went after me relentlessly, declaring that I was making it all about me, spending what seemed like a whole afternoon giving it to me about the clothes I wore for a particular interview and finishing on the sunglasses for good measure. He had me cold that day – I had no comeback. He walked away from the box that afternoon as satisfied as any premiership coach.

He also took great delight in bringing back to earth any of the media that he thought were getting too big for their boots. He especially targetted those he thought were good at giving it out but not so good at receiving it – something he could never be accused of.

Occasionally, he went too far. We were all guilty of that at times but most occasions there'd be a follow-up phone call: "Spud here, mate. Hope you're all right – I was just having a bit of fun."

We were oblivious to the mental health challenges that he later came to champion. I remember, along with Jason (Dunstall) and James, going to his house the first time he succumbed to these challenges. We had no awareness, no understanding of the issues he was dealing with. I was shocked at the state he was in. He was open and honest with us and we walked away knowing that he had a real struggle on his hands but also that he had great love and support around him with his wife Anita, his beautiful girls and his greater family and friends.

The Spud we knew and loved, he did return to us. It took some time but he bounced back. He became an unbelievable support for myself when I had my own battles. He was the very first person to reach out. He stayed in touch constantly and he badgered me about the importance of talking and sharing how I was feeling. I'll never forget his empathy nor his compassion, and I know I'm not the only one to benefit from his love and counsel. 

In recent times I visited him at his latest venture – a horse training facility in his beloved Ballarat. He was excited about his plans for the future and his passion for this new vocation. So obvious that I felt he'd arrived at a truly happy place.

When I told him I'd bought a farm I think he was more excited than me. He knew I had no idea what I was doing and was forever telling me what sort of tractor I had to get, how often I had to slash or fertilise my paddocks, how to cut down trees. I knew I could plead ignorance and he would come and do it for me. Now I can't.

And it is utterly and impossibly heartbreaking to know that's the case – that he won't be in the commentary box this weekend; that he won't be on our television screens on Sunday night (on Fox Footy's Bounce); that he won't be sending through his horseracing tips on Saturday morning; that he won't be there waiting with a beer after the Grand Final at the September Club; that he won't be bragging to us about the achievements of his beautiful girls; that he won't tell us stories any more about Plugger (Tony Lockett) or Harvs (Robert Harvey) or Loewey (Stewart Loewe); that he won't be there to hang it on us for whatever we've done lately; or that the phone won't ring and I won't look down and see Spud show up on my screen, and I won't have that feeling again where I know that no matter what happens for the next 30 seconds or next 30 minutes, I'll laugh like I've not laughed before for that day.

Today just seems that life will not be as much fun again without Spud Frawley in it.