TO people who spend part or all of their lives inside the Scottish rugby bubble, Duncan Weir’s impending move from Glasgow to Edinburgh may seem a matter of common sense. But to many outsiders, not to mention a lot of Glasgow Warriors fans, it is more likely to look peculiar, perhaps even iniquitous.

The case for the move is clear. Weir and Finn Russell, the only two stand-offs listed by Vern Cotter in his Scotland squad for the Six Nations Championship, both play for Glasgow. With Russell generally being preferred by Gregor Townsend, the Warriors coach, that means fewer starts for Weir than he would like. So when he moves to Edinburgh in time for next season, from then on Scotland’s two No 10s will both get adequate game time.

In short, so this case goes, the move should be good for the national team and good for Weir, whose development could have been in danger of stalling had he stayed to play second fiddle at Glasgow for too long. Good, too, for Edinburgh, who are acquiring a dependable playmaker to add to their back-line options: they will still have Greig Tonks and possibly Phil Burleigh as back-ups to Weir, but both those men can play elsewhere behind the scrum.

So far so straightforward? Perhaps. But there are two different types of objection to such a move. First, there are some rugby-based arguments against this specific transfer from one Scottish team to another. And then, more fundamentally, there is the very principle of the thing.

On the rugby side, there is little doubt that the more game time a player gets, the better chance he has of improving his skills and his vision. But the counter-argument to that is the fact that competition also improves players - and, by moving to a different team from Russell, Weir will deny himself the best kind of competition he can have. Of course he will not be guaranteed his place in the Edinburgh team every week, but you can be sure that he will not have to fight for the 10 jersey the way he has had to at Scotstoun.

Then there are the Warriors themselves. At present they have two very different playmakers: Russell is inspired, adventurous and at times more risky; Weir is often more dependable, and his insightful kicking from hand can make him the better option in tight games or poor conditions.

As things stand, Townsend can use his two 10s to attack the opposition in very different ways. The loss of Weir will cut down on the coach’s options, and perhaps burden Russell with too much responsibility.

The Warriors have received a decent budget from Scottish Rugby in recent seasons, but they are still lagging some way behind the financial resources of the leading English and Welsh clubs, so they could hardly be labelled spendthrifts. Besides, as their failure to qualify for the quarter-finals of the Champions Cup has just shown, they are still short of the overall quality required to make an impact at the highest level of European rugby. Losing Weir will not help them close the gap.

That’s the specific rugby case against the move. The more general objection is that it is yet another example of Murrayfield’s strategy of central control and subordination of everything to the national team - a strategy that, in the 20 years since rugby union went professional, has yet to bear fruit.

In other sports, and in many other rugby-playing countries, moving players from one team to another in this manner would seem absurd. The notion of the Scottish Football Association telling Celtic to release a player to Aberdeen, for example, would be unthinkable.

Or look at the teams who, unlike the Warriors, have made it through to the last eight of the Champions Cup. Are Racing 92 likely to hand over Remi Tales to Stade Francais or one of their other rivals, just because he is second choice at stand-off to Dan Carter? Not at all: in fact, they only signed Tales at the start of the season, and see the virtue of having him as back-up to the New Zealander.

The difference, of course, is that in other sports and other countries, the governing body does not have total control. Clubs are allowed to compete with each other in an open market, and there is nothing to stop ambitious clubs from trying to build themselves up on and off the field.

Granted, in football and in other rugby-playing countries there is often conflict between clubs and the wishes of the national team. But that conflict takes place within a dynamic, expanding environment: it’s simply the price of success.

In rugby, unlike at times in football, the national team remains the pinnacle of the sport in every country. But that model works best when the national team is supported by a strong base. That is not the case in Scotland, and will never be the case as long as the ambitions of clubs are stifled by Murrayfield.