You’ve likely heard the age-old riddle: “Why Is 6 Afraid Of 7?” The knee-jerk answer, the one that elicits a chuckle and a groan in equal measure, is, “Because 7 ate 9!” It’s a classic of elementary school joke books and the kind of thing you might find printed on a popsicle stick. It’s simple, silly, and… completely wrong.
The truth, as is so often the case, is far more complicated, and dare we say, a little darker. The real reason behind 6’s crippling fear of 7 has nothing to do with numerical cannibalism and everything to do with the seedy underbelly of the number world. Forget what you think you know about math jokes; this is a story of debt, desperation, and digits gone astray.
The fear began, as many bad decisions do, with a day at the races. 6, feeling a bit flush and a little reckless, decided to spend a Saturday at the number track. A few gin and tonics later, and fueled by beginner’s luck, 6 found himself on a winning streak. Hours flew by in a blur of cheering crowds and clinking glasses. By the end of the day, after generously tipping the waitstaff and lending a sympathetic fiver to his recently divorced friend 5, 6 walked away with a cool $1,200 profit. Life was looking up for 6.
Back in his sparsely furnished apartment, the glow of his winnings began to fade, replaced by the practical question: what to do with the cash? Responsible choices flitted through his mind: a donation to charity, chipping away at his mounting credit card debt, or even treating himself to those new stretchy jeans he’d been eyeing. But then, a different kind of temptation took hold. He picked up the phone and called his ex-girlfriend, 3. He knew she had connections. He needed a bookie.
3, ever helpful, confirmed she knew just the number for the job, but cautioned 6 about 7’s reputation. “He’s dangerous,” she warned, recounting a tale of poor 14 ending up in the hospital after trying to welch on a bet during the French Open. 6, brushing aside her concerns, assured 3 it was just a small wager. Famous last words.
The very next day, heart pounding a nervous rhythm, 6 dialed 7’s number. He attempted some polite small talk, but 7, a number of few pleasantries, curtly told him to get to the point. 6, swallowing his fear, announced he wanted to place a $1,000 bet on the Chicago Bulls to cover the spread. A grunt was 7’s only reply before the line went dead.
That night, the Bulls played. They lost. They did not cover. Just like that, 6 was down a grand, and those stretchy jeans remained a distant dream. Undeterred, and perhaps fueled by a dangerous cocktail of denial and desperation, 6 doubled down the next night, betting another thousand dollars he didn’t have on the Bulls. They failed again. And again the night after that. Then, on the fourth night, in a misguided attempt to recoup his losses, 6 made a catastrophic $3,000 bet that the Bulls wouldn’t cover the spread. They did. 6 was now $6,000 in the hole to 7.
Panic set in. 6 frantically threw his few prized possessions into a suitcase. He still had his original winnings, the $1,000 from the track – enough, he reasoned, to buy a train ticket to San Francisco and disappear. He could shave his head, maybe sport a fake mustache, and adopt a more floral wardrobe, just in case 7 somehow tracked him to the Bay Area.
Just as he was about to slip out the door, the phone rang. It was 3, her voice laced with urgency. “7 is coming to collect,” she hissed. “If you don’t have the money, you need to get out of town, now!” Seconds later, a thunderous knock echoed through 6’s apartment. Knowing escape was his only option, 6 scrambled out the back window and onto the fire escape. His suitcase snagged, bursting open and scattering his meager treasures into the grimy alley below. He didn’t stop. Freedom was all that mattered.
Reaching the alley floor, 6 rounded the corner at top speed and collided directly with… 7. And worse, 7 wasn’t alone. Flanking him were 1 and 2, numbers with reputations that preceded them. 7 grabbed 6 by the shoulders, his eyes cold and unforgiving. While 1 and 2 took turns delivering blows with a phone book (a surprisingly effective weapon in the number underworld), 7 simply stared at 6. No words were necessary.
6 was never seen or heard from again.
So, why was 6 afraid of 7? It wasn’t because of some childish numerical appetite. It was because 6 let a lucky streak and his own greed lead him down a dangerous path, a path that ended with him owing a substantial sum to a very unforgiving number. Maybe 7 did eat 9, for all we know. In this world, anything seems possible. 6 was, in the end, just another number who learned a harsh lesson about gambling and debt. It’s an ironic fate for a digit, perhaps, but irony is a luxury lost on those who end up in number body bags.
