Tierney, as you probably know, is famous for his bullying, bare-knuckled defense of the Archdiocese of Philadelphia.

In some cities, you used to worry about a mafia capo taking you for a ride.

In Philadelphia, you used to worry if Brian Tierney invited you to lunch.

But now that Tierney (and friends) (and the Royal Bank of Scotland) own the two major daily newspapers in Philadelphia, the man who once wanted to stuff a ball gag in Inky columnist Monica Yant Kinney's mouth is the guy who signs her paychecks.

Maybe it's not all bad. If Tierney can manage to bring a Catholic school ethos to the Big White Tower on Broad Street, maybe the two newspapers can be truly saved. And I'm not just talkin' circulation numbers.

I attended Catholic school for 12 years. Sixteen, if you count La Salle University. Say what you will about Catholics, but they know how to run a classroom full of children.

Applying Catholic school rules to the Inquirer and Daily News could be the best thing that happened to Philly journalism since Harry Karafin.

Here is but a small sample of the things Tierney could implement:

Uniforms. Navy slacks for the boys, of course. Plaid skirts and knee socks for the lady reporters. Pair with a nice cream-colored polo shirt (short sleeves during the summer) with the new Philadelphia Media Holdings logo—would it be crass to suggest a Sacred Heart?—over the left breast. Public officials will appreciate spotting a reporter a mile away. And certain public officials will think the plaid skirts are H-O-T-T.

Priests. At my grade school, priests could make a sudden appearance in the back of your classroom at any time. This kept us on our toes. Imagine if Tierney's black-clad agents could make sudden appearances in the newsroom? (There's plenty of room.) They wouldn't interfere. Tierney promised. They'll just watch. And maybe their watchful eyes will help some struggling reporter make the right decision.

Incense. Keep it burning in the newsroom, 24/7. Mellow everyone the fuck out.

Confessionals. Botch a quote? Totally make up a source? No worries. Step into a special Philadelphia Media Holdings Confessional™, cough up your journalistic sins and move on with your career. No fuss. No muss. No accountability. It's worked for the Archdiocese for years now.

Prayer. First thing in the morning, before lunch and before you leave the newsroom. It's tough to waste the first hour of your workday checking Romenesko or the ever-so-sinful Philebrity if you've been busy knocking down an "Our Father" and a "Hail Mary." Just be careful at working lunches. "Bless us O Lord, for these thy gifts" could be taken the wrong way in a pay-to-play town.

Beatitudes. Traditionally, journalists would follow the Society of Professional Journalists' Code of Ethics. (Seek the Truth and Report It, Minimize Harm, all of that fun stuff.) But under the Tierney papacy, reporters would instead be encouraged to follow the Eight Beatitudes, which was Christ's version of Chicken Soup for the Damned Soul. For instance:

Blessed are the Meek. No more tough questions. It's much better to just listen.

Blessed are the Poor in Spirit. Whoops. Might have to break up that union after all.

Blessed are They that Suffer Persecution for Justice's Sake. In other words, Dick Sprague sues you, you're on your own.

And most importantly, there's…

Faith. People will never stop reading newspapers as long as you truly believe they won't. Close your eyes, turn your hearts to the Lord and don't look at another media audit.

Sure, maybe there's a lot that can wrong with a Catholic-infused newsroom. Headlines like

GAY MAN, WHO WILL SOMEDAY BURN IN HELL, TO SPEAK AT EQUALITY FORUM

or

RICKY MARIANO, GOOD CATHOLIC BOY, MAKES A LITTLE BOO-BOO

would be shocking to some in the community.

But remember: It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than to find someone who will subscribe to the Inquirer seven days a week.

Go with God, Mr. Tierney.