The affliction is easy enough to diagnose: The hollow stare of red-rimmed eyes. Fingertips bitten to the quick. That fourth cup of coffee sloshing around a Red Sox travel mug held by jittery hands.
A World Series of taut, late-night thrillers is taking its toll on Bostonians. They nod off on the T, slack off at work and, when night falls, they stumble back to the couch for yet another round of hardball joy-slash-punishment.
Red Sox Nation has become Zombie Nation. Even Monday night’s welcome 11 p.m. finis won’t go far in erasing the collective fatigue.
So cue the violins from envious baseball fans across the country whose teams are not the Cardinals or the Red Sox. They’d love to have Boston’s problems.