It's Easter Sunday, at 5:30 p.m., and Geary Boulevard is quiet.  It seems that everyone is either placing cloth napkins upon their lap or half asleep; recuperating on a relatives couch from a feast of protein and gravy.  In those homes, the static of baseball is alive in the den.  The soothing play-by-play mumbles in the background as dads fall sleep, cousins go for strolls around the neighborhood, and moms dry dishes with damp kitchen towels.