NHL dressing rooms used to smell like liniment and beer. Now, a growing number of former players say another substance belongs in the recovery kit: cannabis.

For years, ex-Philadelphia Flyers enforcer Riley Cote quietly used cannabis to calm his nerves and manage the toll of back-to-back fights and collisions. Only after retiring did he go public, describing how cannabis helped with pain, anxiety, and sleep when traditional painkillers and alcohol were pushing him in the wrong direction. Today, Cote runs wellness and advocacy initiatives, arguing that cannabinoids—especially CBD—should be treated as legitimate recovery tools for athletes, not fringe curiosities.

Four-time Stanley Cup champion Darren McCarty tells an even more dramatic story. The former Detroit Red Wings bruiser has been blunt: he believes medical cannabis “saved” his life after a long, public battle with alcoholism and chronic pain. After multiple rehab stints and health scares, McCarty turned to medical marijuana as a way to manage withdrawal, inflammation, and lingering injuries from years as an NHL enforcer. He now operates his own cannabis brand in Michigan, focusing on products like topicals for pain and cannabinoid formulations aimed at sleep and recovery, and uses his platform to push for better education and safer options for current players.

Ryan VandenBussche, another former NHL tough guy, has taken a similar path. After nine seasons with the Rangers, Blackhawks, and Penguins, he was left with concussion symptoms, orthopedic damage, and the familiar medication carousel of painkillers and muscle relaxants. VandenBussche has described how CBD became central to his routine, helping him manage pain and find better mental balance in retirement. He has since moved into hemp and cannabis entrepreneurship and advocacy groups like Athletes for CARE, arguing that cannabinoids can offer a safer long-term option than opioids for contact-sport veterans.

These stories echo broader research trends. Clinical and observational studies have linked cannabinoids to improved sleep, reduced neuropathic pain, and potential anti-inflammatory benefits—areas that map directly onto the injury profile of hockey players whose joints, backs, and brains absorb punishment over long seasons. While evidence is still evolving and not every claim is backed by large randomized trials, the science is strong enough that many sports physicians now see cannabis and CBD as tools worth considering in a supervised plan, especially where opioids once dominated.

The cultural shift inside hockey is equally important. Cote has noted that players are increasingly open about using low-dose THC or CBD edibles during the season for recovery and sleep, often in place of alcohol. That doesn’t mean the league has fully embraced cannabis—testing policies and team-by-team attitudes remain cautious—but it does signal a changing locker-room conversation. When respected veterans such as McCarty and VandenBussche publicly credit cannabis with giving them a second act, younger players pay attention.

For fans and consumers, these voices add nuance to a debate that’s often reduced to stereotypes. The former enforcers leading this conversation aren’t talking about escapism; they’re talking about managing pain, protecting their brains, and staying present for their families. Their message is not that cannabis is a magic cure-all, but that athletes deserve access to every evidence-based option on the table—especially those that may carry less risk than the pills and bottles that once defined the off-ice grind.

As leagues, doctors, and policymakers continue to wrestle with where cannabis fits into pro sports, the lived experience of players who say it kept them alive, functional, and hopeful may prove just as influential as any lab result—on NHL benches and in living rooms full of fans watching at home.