GIVE SEINFELD A CHANT(S)

                  If you don’t like Seinfeld, you’re cheating yourself.  You’re essentially getting played like Seinfeld via slap bass.

                  I’ve spent a credible amount of time bombarding every party and show, much to the dismay of many bystanders, with Seinfeld chants.  It begins with a whisper.  Three or four friends stand in a circle. The circle turns into a huddle. The beers and fists elevate into the air higher and higher as the volume of the whisper reaches a cry of ardent passion.  It’s a séance to awaken the spirits of sitcoms passed.  “Seinfeld, Seinfeld, Seinfeld,” audible to everyone.

Every chant is quickly snubbed out before catching on.  Sometimes a meek “Elaine” cheer answers the chant. This is, of course, distressing and redundant because “Seinfeld” is an umbrella term. But what’s more distressing is the intermittent “fuck Seinfeld” chant that is occasionally volleyed back at my friends and me.   

                  My efforts were rewarded only once at a popular party-house--the late Country House (R.I.P.).  At one particularly boisterous function, the longest running and most inclusive Seinfeld chant was carried out for a solid 20-25 seconds.  To witness a chant last more than ten seconds seemed a great honor, but I certainly wasn’t ready for what happened next.   Not long after the chant’s demise, a bearded, blonde, Bunyan of a hipster came up to me, shook my hand and said, “Thank you.  That was great!” 

No one had ever given thanks.

                   I stood there in dumb astonishment.  When I came to, I gave him a friendly pat on the back (maybe we had our picture taken, too?), and we both walked away genuinely smiling like men recently informed they were sponge-worthy.  It may seem a modest reward, but it meant as much to me as ZZ means to Top.  Silly and cliché as it might sound, I’m convinced the cast and crew of Seinfeld were watching over me that night.  It comforts me to know that we’re under the same moon.

                  Chanting “fuck Seinfeld” is crass.  It’s ignorant and above all, derogatory.  It’s like burning a Qur'an, minus the political statements.  For true fans, the sitcom is a 24-minute syndicated religious experience.  NBC provided the Eucharist and all we had to was show up.  Once FOX picked up past episodes followers were given what was prophesied in Costanza chapter 8, verse 12: “If ye follow thee, ye shall inherit a wealth equal to Susan of Ross.” And back-to-back Seinfeld episodes were given to the hungry.  Double Seinfeld!  Oh, my God.  Followers’ wells of comedy were left full while wells of those who tended to ignore Seinfeld were left dry and cracking.

                  Detractors of this prime-time phenomenon must be oblivious to the impact Seinfeld had/still has.  The series made waves, and its extensive ripple effect presents itself in all walks of media.  Entire careers have been founded on the show.  Take rapper Wale for example.  He was launched into the limelight all thanks to a “Mixtape About Nothing.” Saturated with Seinfeld samples and references, the mixtape appealed to rap-heads, disciples of Seinfeld (diseinples), and even a significant percentage of tweenagers. 

                  Even though there was never a Seinfeld movie, evidence of the show’s influence can easily be seen in the film industry.  Another career piggyback riding Seinfeld to the banks is that of Shia Labeouf.  His charmingly menacing character Louis Stevens, from Disney’s Even Stevens, had an oil portrait of Kramer hanging on his wall as a testimony to his zany behavior.  Now he drives a Transformer.  Shia hath therefore sippeth from the cup of Seinfeld, and for that he was rewarded.

                  Evidence of Seinfeld worship is also seen outside the Cosmos.  James Cameron recently converted and has since released details concerning his homage to the acclaimed sitcom.  It’s been rumored that the award-winning director will be releasing the director’s cut of Avatar with an optional ending.  Apparently the hero, Jake Sulley, stops short in his training as a Na’vi.

 “He won’t ride the Na’vi horses after someone else,” says Cameron.  “This new cut shaves about an hour off the original but throws a few twists in to make up for it.  And at the end nothing is any better!”

                  Yet, though so many people have seen the light (or the dim glow of late-night television) I realize that my missionary efforts are futile.  Without opposition or conflict, there would be no Seinfeld.  So I take all the rebuttal chants with a grain of salt, but all adamant haters should get wise.   

                When you chant, “fuck Seinfeld,” you’re not fucking Seinfeld, Seinfeld’s fucking you.