Every Season Of Seinfeld Ranked From Worst To Best

Nothing is a paradox because there cannot be nothing unless there's something. "Seinfeld" is a show about nothing. It's also a show about something — something acerbic, something genuine, something original, and something timeless.

It doesn't matter if you watched "Seinfeld" on NBC during the '90s, via reruns on TBS in the '00s, on DVD or Blu-ray in the early '10s, or are streaming it for the first time today. No matter how you experience it, "Seinfeld" is gold. If, like me, you watched "Seinfeld" during all of those cycles, you know it's like Golden Boy: sure to come out crisp and vivid on every watch.

Like most shows, it took time for "Seinfeld" to find itself, and its tone evolved over time as it tried to stay ahead of the comedic curve set by contemporaries like "Fraiser," "Mad About You," and "Cheers." It's not easy ranking every season of "Seinfeld" — they're all wonderfully crafted — but, like Mr. Pitt staring at a 3D poster, a clear image starts to appear if you look at them long enough. Eventually, you see which moments, episodes, and seasons stand out. Here are all 9 seasons of "Seinfeld," ranked from worst to best.

In season 2 of "Seinfeld," the plots begin to percolate with the same kind of infectious pops as the opening theme. This is when the writers begin to explore what makes "Seinfeld" work: When life becomes monotonous, what would happen if you actually did that wild, socially unacceptable thing you've always thought about doing? What if you fire out that mean-spirited joke about ponies at dinner? What if you make a sex pact with your best friend? What if you confront a former date at a baby shower in the shirt she ruined with your favorite chocolate sauce? "Seinfeld" delves into these relatable fantasies, some of which we viewers have dreamed about, too.  Then, it goes one step further, asking: What if you do those things, and then the situation goes horribly wrong? 

Season 2 has several standout scenes, but most of the episodes move with all the pace of a Louisiana vowel. In the episode, "The Ex-Girlfriend," George breaks up with a woman named Marlene because she drags out conversations with her southern drawl. Even though she irritates him, Jerry starts to date her. However, Marlene eventually sees Jerry's act and breaks up with him because she can't date someone if she doesn't respect what they do; an exasperated Jerry replies, "You're a cashier!" 

In later seasons, the Marlene adventure would be just one of several storylines that make up an episode. In season 2, these kinds of plots have to support the entire installment. It's a tad irritating, but hilarious individual moments, like Marlene's breakup with Jerry, make it all worthwhile.

By the time that "Seinfeld" season 9 rolled around, the show was a legitimate phenomenon, pulling in tens of millions of viewers every Thursday. I used to tailgate with my friends before each episode. When 9 pm hit, we would sit on the edge of our seats, beer and cocktails untouched, silently (aside from our laughter) absorbing every moment. Then, during commercials, we'd shout out our favorite punchlines: "Serenity now," "Festivus for the rest of us," or even more obscure but hilarious bits like "You gotta mulch. You got to." I still quote those lines.

Season 9 took some chances that worked. In the episode "The Betrayal," Jerry, Elaine, and George go to a wedding in India, and the story is told in reverse, similar to the movie "Memento." In "The Merv Griffin Show," Kramer sets up the old "Merv Griffin" set in his apartment and hosts guests. Those are risky, high-concept ideas, but they're beboppin' all over the screen because they're executed well by a seasoned staff.

Unfortunately, the entire enterprise is hindered by a single episode. You know what it is: "The Finale." I understand wanting to pay homage to all of the series' fantastic characters, giving them a curtain call for helping make "Seinfeld" one of the most celebrated shows in television history. I don't understand why the clever minds who delivered such rich comedic experiences for the better part of nine years could not find a more fitting ending. Instead, we get a parade of characters who spew off their catchphrases one-by-one in a courtroom. It just doesn't meet the creative pedigree established in the previous 170-plus episodes.

"Seinfeld" season 3 is grounded in reality. In the first two seasons, we meet some oddballs, but the stories are not yet exaggerated in the way they are later. In season 3, though, our four hilarious and lovable jerks turn New York into their personal playground. They're on the street, they're at the diner, and they're at the airport. Along the way, we start to understand their motivations, and begin to predict how they'll respond to various situations. The writers cleverly utilize that familiarity to set us up for the season's biggest punchlines.

We know that Kramer is going to zero-in George's girlfriend's large schnoz, but we don't know how she'll handle it. We know that Elaine wants to break up with her 66-year-old boyfriend after he has a stroke, but we don't know how long she'll care for him first. We know that Jerry and George are going to regret sneaking into a limo while pretending to be other people, but we don't know how far the writers will go to make them regret it (very far, as it turns out).

Season 3 also has two of the series' most breathtaking episodes: "The Boyfriend," featuring Keith Hernandez as himself, and "The Library," which starred the late Phillip Baker Hall as Lt. Joe Bookman. However, while you can watch many of these episodes dozens of times and still laugh (I do), there are some clunkers that stall out after a handful of viewings. "The Truth" has a weak premise and doesn't deliver laughs –- it feels like it was carried over from season 2. "The Suicide" has a lot of moving parts, but they never really connect, at least for me.

If there's any question that "Seinfeld" captured the zeitgeist, consider this: Season 7 of the show aired more than a quarter century ago, yet people still conversationally say "No soup for you," "spongeworthy," and "schmoopie." Really, though, season 7's enduring watchability comes down to one factor: Susan. Her engagement to George completely derails his journey, sending him into a panic as his old, self-indulgent life comes to an end.

Susan's presence also gives "Seinfeld" a way to explore the show's more established characters in new ways. Elaine and Jerry's loyalty to George wavers when they start hanging out with Susan in "The Pool Guy." The contrast between George's boorish parents and Susan's refined folks drives much of "The Rye." George's fidelity is tested (and fails) after he finds out that he is Marissa Tomei's type. Kramer seems to be the only one not impacted by the new addition to his social circle; he cares so little that he thinks Susan is named Lily.

As the season advances, the pressure around George increases until everything bursts in the season finale, "The Invitations." You know what happens. I know what happens. But it's still fun to watch the show build to the moment that the doctor tells George about Susan's fate. Further, after the weight of his engagement is lifted, you think things are finally going to start going George's way. Instead, the end-credits scene immediately squashes that hope. George calls Marisa Tomei to tell her his fiancée is dead. She immediately hangs up on him. Fade to black. Season 7 essentially says, "That's it for me," and walks off.