This is the necessarily thin biography of Brian Piccolo, the young Chicago Bears football player who died of cancer last summer after seven grinding, consuming mouths of illness. Necessarily thin because there simply isn't much to tell: Pic, as he was known, played football most of his adult life (a college star but mediocre pro), a running back always striving to master the art of just another yard; almost peripherally, he had a loving wife and three children, was an uncomplicated extrovert given to practical jokes and clowning, and died at 26 without apparently once confronting the larger meaning of life. But Mrs. Morris (wife of Pic's teammate Johnny Morris), to her credit, tries hard, tapping the tear ducts when appropriate and dilating the story with hospital reports, interviews with players and relatives, Piccolo's own reflections (he had intended to write this book and she uses his fragmentary tapes), quotes from personal letters, a high school yearbook, even a recipe for linguine with white clam sauce. For readers who enjoy the there's-always-someone-worse-off-than-me Kleenex genre.