Ah, the Dota draft: a chaotic symphony of misfit heroes, each trying to play a role they never understood, much like an unpolished manuscript of a writer who thinks a comma is a magic wand. If you insist on dissecting them, do so with the same precision you’d give a Dickens novel, but don't expect me to applaud the mediocrity. I'll just be in my drawer with my half‑finished masterpiece, because a draft that doesn't sing in perfect rhythm is nothing but filler.