Had Teal'c had an inkling of the plotting currently occupying General George Hammond's shiny head, he would not have been hovering outside Sam's ice-cream scented lab and eaves-dropping on the conversation currently unfolding therein. Indeed, instead he would have been high-tailing it up to the Mountain Complex's car park to lie in wait for many stoic, silent hours for Jack O'Neill's arrival, ready to ambush his former and prospective CO to make damn sure the man was in no shape to make him lose his not insignificant stake in the pool, deportation to Chulak notwithstanding (he'd got his entire DVD collection riding on it just for starters, and frankly O'Neill's tackle wasn't worth one copy of The Last Starfighter, let alone his Star Wars boxset and digitally remastered Barbarella).
Sadly, Teal'c was not aware of Hammond's scheming and so took no action, thereby condemning his treasures to the inevitable tender care of Hammond's grandchildren, who would mix up the boxes, smear their contents with lime-jelly sandwiches, and eventually lend them to their boyfriends from whence they would never return, even after they broke up with them.
No, Teal'c didn't know, and so remained where he was, listening intently, his proverbial eyebrow raised, to Sam and Vala:
"You have got to be kidding me! Cherry brandy?"
"Yes," sobbed Sam. "He said it would loosen me up a bit... I never knew what he meant by that."
Vala's eyeballs did a sweep of the ceiling. "You mean he never... you never... Say, does that mean you're still a..?"
"Vala!" Sam squealed in protest and started full on water-works.
Vala slapped her.