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.