WHEN news of the travails of Glasgow Rangers began to enter the public domain, Alex Salmond was asked for his thoughts by, of all people, Sir David Frost.

Clearly, momentous events were in train. How often does a Scottish story – a Scottish football story, indeed – become of interest to the English-language service of Al Jazeera?

The First Minister was appropriately solemn. Her Majesty's Revenue & Customs had a duty to extract taxes due from Rangers, he conceded. Then Salmond added: "Equally, they've got to have cognisance of the fact that we're talking about a huge institution, part of the fabric of the Scottish nation as well as Scottish football, and everybody realises that."

That's interesting, I thought. Just at that moment I could guarantee, without hesitation, that a large part of "the Scottish nation" was managing to contain its salt tears. Who was this "everybody"? Salmond – for the record, a Hearts fan – wasn't done.

"The most diehard Celtic supporter understands that Celtic can't prosper unless Rangers are there," he said. "The rest of the clubs understand that as well. Therefore you have to have cognisance of these things when you're pursuing public policy."

That part seemed true enough. The Old Firm is a kind of self-defining entity. What's one without the other? Scotland's other senior clubs, meanwhile, understand the facts of life. They don't exactly cherish Rangers, but they know on which side the bread butters.

Then something strange happened. The Celtic chief executive, Peter Lawwell, had already told the BBC that Rangers going out of business "would have no material effect on Celtic". Then, after Salmond's remarks, Celtic said it all again, and even issued a statement to stress how "very disappointed" they were with Salmond's claims "that Celtic 'need' Rangers and that Celtic 'can't prosper unless Rangers are there'. This is simply not true".

"No material effect"? Is that claim reflected in Celtic's turnover? Does it describe the rivalry – let's call it that – that gives purpose and identity to so many of the club's fans? If Rangers disappeared, would Celtic truly continue as if nothing had happened? Let's follow that logic. How would the rest of us cope if the Old Firm were not around?

It's not a new question. In happier times, when both Glasgow clubs were casting envious eyes on the Sky cash flooding into English football, there was a lot of talk – aimless, obviously enough – of an Old Firm migration to the rich pastures of the south. Some of us had to decide what we thought of that. The answer, in my unscientific survey, was unanimous. Let them go, the sooner the better.

These clubs were, and are, two elephants in a small room. Whatever Salmond thinks, they distort "the fabric of the Scottish nation". The near-unanimous political reaction to the Ibrox tax affair was symptomatic: as went Rangers, so went Scotland.

The political class understood only that this club has a big following, drawn from all parts of the country, and a long history of achievement (and other things).

Forgotten was the possibility that anyone could say what I'll say now: I wouldn't miss them. I wouldn't miss the Old Firm.

I don't expect the clubs' fans to take the point. Some of them invest their lives in their club. Many of them define their identity in terms of that allegiance. The allegiance, in turn, connects the generations. It's not for me, or anyone else, to tell people how to feel. To the supporters, these clubs matter deeply. But why should they matter to anyone else?

How does a small nation assert itself? The usual answer, not least from politicians, is easy to state: by doing big things. You hope for great musicians, great writers, world-beating science, companies that compete internationally, actors who win Oscars, and clubs showing the world that Scotland can hold its own.

For a Nationalist like Salmond, that's one aspect of patriotism. For a nationalist like me, it means that every time I think of the Ibrox meltdown I think of the Royal Bank of Scotland.

Too big, too dominant, too closely woven to "the fabric of the Scottish nation", too important, too likely to distort economic reality: RBS qualified on every count. The Old Firm is – for let's not stretch the analogy – equivalent.

This is not an argument against anyone's success: Scotland doesn't have that luxury. But it is a claim that a pair of football clubs crowd out the rest. Culturally, they suppress other voices.

One voice says, no offence, but I don't much care what happens to Rangers (or Celtic). The very fact that this is taken to be unthinkable makes me believe the disappearance of the Old Firm wouldn't be a tragedy. You wouldn't know it from coverage of the Ibrox affair, but there is a bit more to Scotland than a pair of very big football clubs.

There is an argument going on at the moment over the possibility of Scotland's independence. In part, that's also about voices being drowned out, of identities being ignored. Unionists often define the complaint as resentment. Funnily enough, Old Firm fans often say the same about the whining supporters of smaller clubs.

For my part, I'd happily hold a referendum on the future of the Old Firm. I even think I know what the result would be.